


Pointe Towards a Brighter Future

by LTRisBACK



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 12 dancing princesses au, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Brothels, Educating, Fey Crowley, Going against the crown, Other, Part-Fey Aziraphale, Royal Aziraphale, Secrets, Sharing information, Who also happens to be your older brother, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LTRisBACK/pseuds/LTRisBACK
Summary: Aziraphale, prince of the city-state of Haven, has been disappearing at night for some time.  His brother, the Prince Regent Gabriel, is tired of this and determined to see his youngest brother properly married and settled down.  He makes a proclamation that whoever can discover Aziraphale's secret will win his hand in marriage.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 145





	1. Suitors, Suitors Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this story a go! I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Do please let me know what you think by hitting the kudos button and/or leaving a comment!

Aziraphale, young prince of the City State of Haven, was taken seriously by absolutely no one. His brother Gabriel, the Prince Regent in place of their absent mother the Queen kept him mostly out of the public eye, dressed demurely in pale clothes and generally spoke dismissively both of and to him. In fact, all of Aziraphale’s siblings seemed to view him in much the same light - fairly useless, not particularly interesting and a general unneeded nuisance as fourth in line to the throne. 

Aziraphale, in his turn, had always taken advantage of his overlooked status to get away with doing the things he wanted. Since this mostly involved hiding out in the enormous palace archives and basically acting as a senior archivist, saving Gabriel the expense of actually employing one even as he complained that one would do a better job, he was mostly left alone to do exactly that. 

Recently, though, something else had been going on and Gabriel was absolutely determined to figure out what it was. Aziraphale had taken to disappearing every evening, not to be found anywhere in the palace. No one was actually sure how long it had been going on for, because it hadn’t been noticed until Gabriel demanded his presence one night in order to present him to a potential suitor. When no one had been able to find the youngest prince, no matter where they looked, the suitor had departed in disgust and Gabriel had been furious. 

When Aziraphale had reappeared without a word the next morning, only to be gone the next evening, and the next, Gabriel had set guards. No one had seen what had happened. When asked, Aziraphale just blinked uncomprehendingly at them, shrugged, and walked away. No matter which room Aziraphale was in, nor the number of guards set on the door, no one could figure out what was going on. 

Gabriel had even had guards watch the windows of his suite, custom dictating that they could not be within those walls, but in the morning they could not tell him anything about the young prince’s whereabouts. Eventually the Prince Regent decided that the guards were simply not sufficiently motivated, and instead issued a decree. The person who revealed the secret of Prince Aziraphale’s disappearances would be given the Prince’s hand in marriage. They would have three days to investigate, within limits, once they had presented their intention to do so to the Prince Regent. 

There had been several who had attempted to discover the secret, only to depart, frustrated. First had been Hastur, a Duke from a neighbouring but not particularly friendly city-state, Hel. He had been a most disagreeable man, with poor hygiene and rude, demanding ways. He had attempted to force himself into Aziraphale’s chambers to observe him, and when he had been rebuffed by both the prince and his guards, he had flown into a towering rage and had to be ejected from the city after only a single night. 

Beelzebub, the second suitor, was a much more diminutive figure than the scarecrow-like Hastur. They were a member of the Royal house of Hel, however they did not seem to suffer the same shortness of temper as the hapless Hastur. They were, however, no more successful in discovering Aziraphale’s secrets and after their three days were up they departed in disgust. 

Gabriel glared at Aziraphale, then his expression smoothed and she shook his head slowly, eyeing him. “Aziraphale, really? I finally give you an opportunity to be truly of use to the family, to create a valuable connection to one of our allies, and this is how you behave?” 

Aziraphale stood, spine straight, and tried not to show what he was thinking on his face. ‘Be of service to the kingdom’ indeed, as though he wasn’t the one who kept the entire library in order, who kept the accounts organised and generally took care of making sure everything got paid for, the taxes were taken into the treasury without theft. He wasn’t sure if Gabriel knew how much Aziraphale took care of, though. After all, his siblings all viewed his ‘work’ in the library as a frivolous waste of his time, when they would prefer he spent it fluttering around adorning the court. He really didn’t understand it, most people he knew preferred it if you were seen as a productive member of society, but his family seemed to want him to be nothing more than an ornament. 

“I may have to accept their suit,” Aziraphale replied. “But you cannot tell me how to speak to them. If they cannot treat me like a person, not an object, something that they can pick up and walk away with, I see no reason why I should treat them with anything approaching respect.” 

Michael huffed, crossing her arms, but remained silent. Aziraphale really felt that a princess who was not first in line for the throne should have been a little more sympathetic, considering that this could easily be her fate too, but somehow Aziraphale was the only one the rest of the family viewed as disposable. 

“Look, I’ve got things to do,” Aziraphale turned away. “I will meet the next person who decides to take up your ridiculous challenge, and I will treat them in the way their own actions deserve.” Turning, he walked away, his spine so stiffly straight he felt like he was strapped to a backboard. 

He didn't have long to wait. The next suitor - or suitors, as it turned out - arrived that afternoon. They were quite startlingly different from the suitors up to this point - an armoured knight, who walked into the throne room with helm still in place, and a young down at luck nobleman, from the house Pulsifer in another nearby kingdom. 

The murmurings and mutterings of the court stilled when the knight’s helm was finally removed. A long braided tail of hair fell out to bang hollowly against the back of the breastplate, and as one the court gasped. 

“Prince Regent,” she nodded respectfully to Gabriel where he sat below the throne looking rather shell shocked. “I am Sir Anathema of House Device,” the quiet hisses grew momentarily louder at that revelation of the knight’s connection to the exceedingly rich family, which had its roots in the Kingdom of Roughlee. The family had spread across the kingdoms, and were very prosperous in business. To marry one into your family was a near guarantee of long-term prosperity, but no one in Haven had heard that the only daughter of the main branch of the family had become a knight. 

“Lady Anathema,” Gabriel nodded in greeting. 

“It’s sir,” Anathema interrupted before he could say anything more. “I’m a knight, I earned my knighthood, I’m a sir, thank you, your Highness.” The rebuke was given with perfect civility, but there was absolutely no doubt that it would have been given with a slap to the face if the opportunity had arisen. 

“Sir...Anathema,” Gabriel’s obvious but contained fury radiated through the room, stilling the whispers and silencing the court. “We have had multiple suitors from Royal houses, why should we entertain one from a simple knight from a wealthy family?” 

Anathema’s raised eyebrow stated clearly that she could see right through him. “Your invitation stipulated no requirements of royalty, nor even nobility, Your Highness,” she returned. “That you have not had hundreds of commoners knocking down your door demanding their chance at winning the Prince’s hand is surely more luck than anything else. Or perhaps, their respect for you keeps them away, what with the notices posted all over the kingdom.” Anathema didn’t even smile as she slipped in the knife. Haven was a kingdom well known for keeping their underclass ignorant, after all. Education for anyone below a well-ranked merchant’s family wasn’t forbidden but it was definitely frowned upon and viewed with suspicion. 

Gabriel glared, but he was trapped by his own words and he knew it. “You will have your chance. But first, we have a second applicant this day, let us hear from them.” 

The figure that walked into the room looked just slightly scarecrow-like, his long lanky arms and legs making him look like he just hadn’t grown into himself properly yet. He was young, and had a handsome face, what could be seen of it concealed behind the large spectacles that were trying to slide off the end of his nose. 

He tripped on his own feet halfway down the aisle, just barely managing to catch himself as he stumbled the last few steps to stand at Anathema’s side. 

“Your name, suitor?” Gabriel leaned back in his chair, clearly wishing he was sitting in the more imposing throne but that was something no one would stand for, no matter how long the Queen had been missing. 

“Newton,” the young man - and he seemed very young to Anathema - stuttered. “Lord Newton of House Pulsifer, in the Kingdom of Dorking.” 

“Lord Newton of House Pulsifer. That is a minor house, fallen on hard times. Why should we entertain your suit?” Anathema snorted quietly, quietly enough it would be deniable if challenged but still audible. 

“Ummm...well, I’m a hard worker? And...well...I have the gift of my house,” the last was said very softly, but it brought Gabriel very quickly leaning forward in his chair. 

“The gift? Curse more like, but a curse that can, indeed, be useful. Very well. I will allow each of you to try your hand, but you will do so at the same time. Whether you work together or against each other is up to you.” 

The two bowed shallowly to the Prince Regent, then a servant stepped forward to lead them to rooms in Aziraphale’s suite to allow them to deposit their belongings.


	2. Into the City it's time to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments on the first chapter! I hope that this one will not disappoint. Do please let me know what you think!

Aziraphale was in the Castle Library when his servant, Marjory, found him. She was a young woman, one who's hiring Aziraphale had organised himself, and they shared a conspiratorial smile. 

“Two at once, Your Highness,” Marjory murmured. “A Knight, a...a lady knight, and a young man from a somewhat disgraced noble house. The Prince Regent wasn’t rightly impressed with either of them, so he said they had to try at the same time, rather than separately.” 

“Marjory, you are a wonder, I’m so glad your aunt recommended you. What was your impression of them?” 

“Well, Sir Anathema does not like your brother,” Marjory leaned in quickly and relayed exactly what had been said in the throne room, which ended with Aziraphale doubled over his knees laughing silently. 

He straightened when they heard the outer door to the library open and Marjory moved into a more ‘appropriate’ position for a servant. Micah, one of the page boys, led a man and a woman into the room, nodded respectfully to Aziraphale, and spoke. “Your Highness, may I present Sir Anathema of House Device and Lord Newton of House Pulsifer.” 

“Thank you, Micah,” Aziraphale nodded and the page boy withdrew. Aziraphale waited to see what the two ‘suitors’ had to say for themselves. He had no particular interest in a female suitor (or a male one, but a female led to expectations on the production of CHILDREN and that was just...awkward. Aziraphale had absolutely no inclination to partake in the activities that were involved in that, with any gender). He smiled slightly when, after a moment, they both sat, looking somewhat self-conscious. 

“So…” Lord Newton looked rather awkward. “Look, this is ridiculous, call me Newt. Everyone does. Our house is barely even noble anymore, it wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for our so-called ‘gift’ but the rulers of our Kingdom want to keep on my father’s good side, lest he turns against them in the event of a battle.” 

Aziraphale found himself suppressing a grin at the stumbling explanation. It made sense, no one with any level of reasoning thought wanted a Pulsifer turning their attention onto them. Even outside of war time there was plenty that someone who could cause any machinery to cease to function could do if you annoyed them sufficiently. No one was sure where the gift of the Pulsifer family came from, but it was rumored to come from the same place as the longevity of Aziraphale’s own family - the fey. 

“Call me Anathema. I don’t really care for any of the ways it can be shortened, but just Anathema is good.” 

“Well, then, you must both call me Aziraphale,” he told them. Inside, he was getting worried. They both seemed really decent. They sat and talked for a little while, about what each of them did and he quickly noticed something. Neither of them was that interested in him, oh they both listened if he had something to say but their eyes were continuously drawn away from him and to each other. That gave Aziraphale an excellent idea. 

He allowed his suitors to trail him through the library and found himself truly enjoying the conversation the three of them shared. Over the course of the afternoon he made sure to seem more and more absorbed in his work, leaving them to talk to each other. The attraction they shared was obvious and Aziraphale mentally weighed his options. 

Aziraphale reluctantly consented to eat at the high table that night. It wasn’t his preferred option as he generally ate in his own rooms so he could continue with his reading. Still, when he had suitors, he had to eat at the table. He sat with them on either side of him and they continued their conversation from the library, the two talking to each other as much as to him even though talking over the person in between you was still considered the height of ill manners among Haven’s upper crust. Aziraphale greatly enjoyed the expressions of annoyance and distaste on his siblings faces as the conversation went on. 

Aziraphale had made up his mind on exactly how he was going to handle these two suitors. As they left the table and he led them away he started to put his plan into effect. He retrieved a jug of wine and three goblets that Marjory had left out for him and invited the two into his own parlour. The guards at the door nodded to him but stayed outside, knowing that what happened in his quarters of a night was not their concern, as long as he did not go past them without being accompanied. 

He poured the wine into each of the three goblets, keeping the one with the slightly thicker base for himself. The two goblets he had chosen for his guests were treated with a strong but short-acting sleeping potion. Normally his suitors had received a much longer lasting potion, one that would keep them unconscious the entire night, but he had something different in mind for these two. While he bore them very little ill-will, they had still been willing to come and potentially inflict themselves upon him in an unwanted marriage. He didn’t feel he owed them anything but he was still hoping to do them a favour. They were clearly attracted to each other and from the afternoon’s conversation they seemed to be reasonably well suited. While Aziraphale knew you couldn’t judge people based on a single day’s conversation, these two just had so much chemistry. Marjory clearly agreed with him as she had set out this particular set of goblets. 

As soon as the two were unconscious Marjory entered into the room and helped Aziraphale to half carry, half drag the hapless pair into a small but comfortable room. There wasn’t much in there - a single bed, a few cushions for sitting on the floor, and absolutely no window nor any other exit except for the door. This room was secluded deep within Aziraphale’s suite of chambers, far from the door where the guards could have heard someone attempting to get out of it. Each of the royal suites had one such room, ostensibly to serve as a nursery where the children could be kept safe. Aziraphale honestly hoped that was the only reason they existed, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Once his unwanted guests were comfortably settled (on the floor, not the bed, with pillows under their heads) Aziraphale and Marjory carefully secured the door then made their way to Aziraphale’s bedroom. With a wink at his servant, who smiled back, Aziraphale opened the invisible door in the wall that led into the tunnels that honeycombed the castle and only he knew the secret of. If he’d had any inclination to, he could have used those tunnels to discover every secret of the kingdom and their guests without discovery. Whoever had created these tunnels had clearly planned for them to be used to spy. They went everywhere within the palace and were filled with magical spy-glasses that, if given attention, would allow you to both see and hear what was happening in a room. Aziraphale ignored all of them, slipping along the corridor in his soft shoes, and took a turning that brought him away from the palace. 

He was fairly sure (the documents he had discovered hidden deep in the archives had been old, tattered and somewhat incomplete) that the tunnels had once been intended as an escape route should one be needed. He didn’t use it as the kind of escape route his ancestors had probably intended but it was very much his escape. He stopped at the end of the tunnel and opened the chest, quickly exchanging his obviously very well made if still rather plain clothes for a more mundane set. He covered his eye catching hair with a scarf that wrapped snugly around his head and neck, hiding the distinctive colour from view. He checked the spyglass and, finding his exit to be empty of people, he quickly let himself out, shutting the wall behind him. 

No one else would be able to open it even if they knew it was there; there was a special trick to it that only Aziraphale knew and it wasn’t purely mechanical. A little incantation that one had to speak over one's fingers once a month in combination with a simple herbal tincture in order to be able to open the doors. He had attempted them each separately, simply to see if only one of them was needed, but they truly only worked in combination. 

Aziraphale slipped out of the back room and into Madam Tracey’s very busy public room. The fiddler was clearly proving her worth tonight, the whole crowd was singing along with a very lively tune, and Aziraphale smiled with pride. The girl had been one he recommended to Tracey and she had proven herself worth her weight in gold. Madame Tracey ran one of the most respected Flower Houses in Haven (you could not call anything in the city of Haven a name as unseemly as a ‘brothel’ after all, just ask his brother) and having good entertainment in the main room kept the patrons happily waiting and deep in their cups. 

Tracey saw Aziraphale and smiled broadly. She was the only one in the city who knew his secret but she had no intention of revealing it. She found what he was doing both absolutely hilarious and utterly delightful. Every so often she would mutter about how one day he would be free but Aziraphale really wasn’t sure where she would get an idea like that from. Then again, she did claim to be able to commune with the spirits. Aziraphale had never seen any proof that this was true but every so often the woman would have a moment of truly striking insight. 

Marjory was her niece, and after finding out about the tunnel that let out in her backroom (before he’d figured out the spy glass Aziraphale had fallen out of the wall literally on top of her, it almost felt like they were one being they were so entangled on the floor) she had sent the girl to serve him in the palace as his personal servant. It had taken a little fast talking with the steward to get her assigned to him but Aziraphale had eventually managed it. Mostly this was because Gabriel had been quite pleased to hear that Aziraphale wanted a particular maid in his rooms. Aziraphale didn’t roll his eyes at his brother’s disgusting assumptions simply because doing so might mean he wouldn’t get what he wanted. 

Tracey held up a tankard and Aziraphale nodded to her, grinning. He settled at a table and soon enough had a tankard of really good beer at his elbow. He sighed happily as he took a long swallow. This was what he liked; great music, fine company and excellent beer. He grinned as the fiddler stood from her stool and began performing a very fast paced, tricky piece of music that he was sure was her own composition. She finished with a flourish and bowed then retreated to take a rest. Aziraphale raised his tankard towards her and she slipped around the edge of the room to sit down at his table. She set her precious instrument down on the table and stole Aziraphale’s tankard, eyes dancing at him over the top of it as she quaffed his beer. 

Aziraphale made a show of indignation and snatched his tankard back. She’d only drunk a mouthful, since she still had several more sets to perform. She raised a hand to one of the serving maids and was quickly brought her own tankard, this one filled with lemon and barley water. 

“So, Tara, how have you been?” Aziraphale enquired, eyes dancing. The little fiddler grinned at him and shrugged. 

“Alright, Ezra. I’ve been practicing and the writing is getting easier.” 

“That’s excellent. The trick to getting other people to want to play your music is to have written it down yourself first, which allows them to practice it. I’m glad that it’s becoming easier.” Aziraphale beamed at his student, who blushed and hid behind her tankard. For a performer, she was remarkably shy in conversation. 

Aziraphale finished his tankard, and waited until Tara started her next set before slipping out the door. He wandered down the street, purchasing a sausage roll from one vendor and a paper cone filled with hot chestnuts from another. He wandered the street, eating the sausage roll and slipping the chestnuts to the children who approached him, knowing he was always good to get a treat from. 

He saw his destination approaching but did not speed his steps, instead continuing in his meandering walk as he checked in with friends, admired new wares or new babies and generally enjoyed the journey. He finally reached the outer door of the city scriptorium and ducked inside with a quick glance around. He was greeted with a clamour the like of which this building seldom heard, but a quick, hard glance quelled it. The last thing they needed, after all, was anyone investigating WHY there was so much noise coming from the scriptorium at night. He took the key from around his neck and unlocked the inner door, quickly ushering the children through. 

The group of children and young adults quickly quieted and followed Aziraphale through the building to an inner room where light could not make its way into the outside world. The littlest children quickly settled themselves on benches, little slates and chalk perched in front of them, and began to work under the guidance of two of the young adults. They practiced shaky letters and wrote words, then sentences. Finally they took out the little books from under their benches and began to read together, the words rising and falling in a singsong as old as the oldest schoolroom. 

The older children and the young adults each took a text from a pile and settled to read, every so often asking a question of either one of their fellows or Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled as he watched. They were almost completely independent of him now, which had been the plan. The older children had been so hungry to learn, to know, and with his guidance were now well on their way to being the teachers of an entire generation. If Aziraphale had his way, there would be no more generational illiteracy in their kingdom. 

The children worked over their books for a few hours, then quietly took their leave, the smaller ones supported by their elders as they yawned and stumbled their way down the street. Aziraphale ensured that the room appeared exactly as it had when he arrived and left the scriptorium. While several of the scribes knew of and supported his work here the chief scribe and his immediate group of flunkies would not be supportive. They were firmly of the opinion that the general public should remain uneducated; that was what kept them employed after all. Anything that you needed read or written had to go through a scribe. The scribes were employed by the crown ostensibly to support the common folk in this area but in reality to keep a finger on the pulse of communication around the kingdom. Gabriel firmly believed that an uneducated populace was a populace that would not be able to organise an uprising. Aziraphale cynically thought he should meet the message runners down in the city who could memorise a message and repeat it word perfect days later. There was always a way to get a message somewhere if you had to, but even the message runners could be corrupted. Being able to write your own messages and read the replies was the only way to be certain you were receiving a message verbatim. 

His work for the night complete Aziraphale made his way to a tavern, one well known for its excellent group of players. He arrived just in time for the second show of the night and handed over the quadrans for a seat and a plate of excellent stew. He found the food in the city far more palatable than the bland, pallid stuff that Gabriel had served in the palace. His brother may claim it was healthy but honestly the stuff was so flavourless Aziraphale wasn’t sure how any of their guests managed to eat it. 

The show was a new one and Aziraphale found himself enjoying it immensely. Will was a truly excellent playwright and Aziraphale did not at all regret his gift of a few small books from the palace library (book plates carefully removed) that he had hoped would assist him in his creative process. 

He laughed, he cried, he sat on the edge of his seat as the play went on. When it was over he joined in the thunderous applause that threatened to bring down the roof of the tavern on all their heads. He stayed back afterwards, wanting a few minutes with his friends and soon enough it was quiet enough that he could slip into the back rooms to see the players. The bouncer knew him well and let him pass with a nod and a smile, even as he blocked another patron with a muscular arm. 

“Will!” Aziraphale called as he entered the back room. “Will, you sly dog, where are you?” 

“EZRA!” Will jumped up from the side, his smile almost manic in its width, and seized Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You made it! What did you think?” 

“You didn’t tell me you were starting a new one, Will! It was fantastic, as you are well aware. None of that false modesty, now.” Will gave him a look from under his eyelashes, pretending modesty, then gave up and laughed joyously. 

“THEY LOVED IT!” he exalted, eyes bright and colour high in his cheeks. Aziraphale grinned at his friend’s joy and then turned to the company of players, a mixed bag of people from many different walks of life who had somehow found their way together in this place, making an odd family. 

They shared a drink and Aziraphale was starting to feel the alcohol a bit as he made his way back towards Madame Tracey’s. He wasn’t quite stumbling but he was certainly a little less steady on his feet than he had been. Tracey let him through the door into the now almost empty room. The tables were occupied by her ladies, a group of truly exotic beauties who were sharing a late meal, laughing together and teasing Tara, who blushed but was clearly learning to hold her own. Aziraphale was glad to see she was coming out of her shell more as time went on. 

He had found her playing her fiddle for pins on a street corner, having walked for days from her little hamlet. She had been turned out by her father and stepmother when she refused to accept the match they had tried to make for her and she managed to bring her fiddle with her. It had kept her fed on the journey, and she had collected enough pins on that street corner to eat, but not enough coin to pay for a room or music lessons. Aziraphale had taken her to Madame Tracey and had her play, and she soon found herself installed in the common room with a little bedroom upstairs. Aziraphale had taught her to read and write both music and the written word and Will had suggested a good music teacher who she could now afford to pay. 

Madame Tracey followed Aziraphale’s gaze and beamed. “She’s worth her weight, that one,” she said. “I know I've said it before but thank you for bringing her to us. She was exactly what we needed here, in more ways than just doing her job.” Aziraphale nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. They sat and chatted, Aziraphale collecting all the city gossip (and wondering how his brother could be so blind to the ways that news could travel) until the ladies and Tara made their way to bed. 

Now that there was no one else to see him leave, Aziraphale stood. “Well, I’d better head back before it gets too much later, I need to actually get some sleep tonight. There are two suitors in my suite right now.” 

“Two?” Madame Tracey’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that’s different. What are you going to do to them?” she inquired. She knew all of the little tricks that Aziraphale had played on his previous suitors, had recommended more than a few of them herself. 

“Bit different this time. Honestly, I think they’re more interested in each other than in me and they seem well matched. I locked them into a room together. We’ll see how they are in the morning.” Madame Tracey collapsed over her knees, laughing so hard tears ran down her face. Aziraphale left her with a soft farewell and slipped into the backroom then through the hidden door and into the passage. With slightly clumsy hands he carefully changed back, ensuring that his disguise went back into the chest and he didn’t take anything from the city back to the palace. 

Aziraphale slipped back through the palace walls on silent feet. He always ensured he walked without noise, despite the fact that he was fairly certain the tunnels were magically silenced. Exiting back into his own room, he didn’t bother waking Marjory from where she slept in the trundle next to his bed, just crawled under the covers and allowed himself to fall unconscious.


	3. What, AGAIN?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad people are enjoying my silly little story, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to comment or kudos it!

Aziraphale woke early, at the same time Marjory was starting to stir. He had never slept much, none of his family did, they put it down to their possibly fey blood. Marjory sat up and stretched, then gave Aziraphale a wicked look. “Shall we see what our guests got up to last night?” 

Aziraphale tamped down a grin and shook his head. “I don’t want to open the door if they aren’t ready, let me just go check.” He slipped into the tunnels and quickly checked on the supposed ‘nursery’. Armour and clothes were scattered around in a way that suggested they had been discarded with a great deal of uncaring haste. On the bed, under a blanket, Aziraphale could just make out a pile of tangled limbs. With a grin he stepped back and made his way quickly to his own room, checking that Marjory was still alone before he exited. It wouldn’t have been the first time one of his siblings was waiting in his room for him and he’d had to go and exit somewhere unseen in the palace and reenter his suite from the outside. 

His brother had changed the guards on his suite three times, but tradition absolutely forbade the placing of guards within a royal suite, and Aziraphale was intensely glad of that fact. If Gabriel could have gotten away with having guards watch him sleep, he was sure he would have done. 

The room was clear, and Aziraphale slipped out quickly. “They’re...not quite ready for a wake up call yet. Maybe just crack the door open and leave them b but put a tray of food outside? I will eat in the study this morning, I have some things to go over in the accounts.” Marjory nodded and took herself off to have a quick wash before seeing to all of their needs for breakfast. Aziraphale entered his private bathing chamber and filled the tub quickly from the brass boiler on the wall. The man who had come up with this invention was, in Aziraphale’s mind, a pure genius. Heating the water right there at the bath, over a slow-burning fire so that the bath could be instantly ready? A pipe that brought cold water directly from the cistern on the roof? What more could be wanted. He sighed as the warmth of the water sank into his muscles. He might enjoy his little ruses, but that didn’t mean they weren’t stressful. He frequently ached from the tight muscles that resulted from his stressed state. 

Once he was clean, he didn’t linger in the tub, instead dressing in a clean outfit the same as that of the day before. His lack of interest in a varied wardrobe was one of the only things that he and his oldest brother agreed on. Gabriel had chosen a single style and colour of clothing years ago now and never varied it. Gifts of clothing and fabric were always greeted with confusion then quickly carried away and handed over to others. Where they disagreed even in this was that Aziraphale’s clothes were plain and chosen for comfort, where Gabriel’s were chosen to impress. 

Making his way to his study, Aziraphale sighed happily to find a steaming teapot set beside a plate of food on his desk. He kept his own stocks for breakfast and lunch at least (and dinner when he could get away with avoiding it) paid for out of his own household budget. Considering that he still ran at a much leaner cost than any other member of the royal family (he handled all their budgets too or it was likely the servants would never get paid) Gabriel allowed it, choosing to simply complain about Aziraphale sullying himself with ‘gross matter more fit for the common folk than one of US’. Aziraphale rather uncharitably thought that if Gabriel ever tasted real food his head would surely explode from the level of flavour in his mouth. 

Pushing his thoughts aside he settled in to enjoy his meal and run an eye over the accounts. If he kept on top of them all the time he was never left rushing to get something done, so that was his preferred way of managing all of his business. Today it was Sandalphon’s accounts, and Aziraphale winced to see yet more new hires among his servants, and the more familiar names disappearing. His brother went through staff like no one else Aziraphale knew. He was deeply unpleasant to everyone around him, but particularly to those who were subservient to him. His staff frequently gave notice, but even if they didn’t Sandalphon would serve them notice after a month or so. He claimed he didn’t want them getting too ‘familiar’, which was ridiculous because no one WANTED to be familiar with Sandalphon, except possibly Gabriel and even that was only occasional. 

He wrote in the required wages, performing the equations quickly and scribbling the results on the page. By the time his breakfast and pot of tea were finished so was the paperwork, and Aziraphale stood, deciding his guests had had about enough time to get themselves together. 

He wandered down the corridor and stuck his head in the door to find them sitting side-by-side on the bed, staring at each other with both terror and desire. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly, and they both jumped, shifting apart as though caught in something far more elicit than simply sitting side by side. “Well, I sense you had a good night?” Aziraphale enquired, a touch of amusement in his voice. Anathema stared at him, head cocked to one side. 

“You...you wanted this!” she exclaimed suddenly, pointing a finger at him so swiftly that had he been any closer it would have been stabbed against his chest to make her point. 

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale agreed airily. “I’m really not actually in the market for a suitor, you know, Anathema. Friends, I can always do with some more friends, but suitors? Not really my cup of tea. If you think being locked in here was bad, you should see what we managed to do to the last few. They won’t tell anyone about it for the shame of it, but…” his eyes crinkled with humour, and Newt threw back his head and laughed. 

“See, Anathema? I told you it would be alright. They put us both in here, after all. It’s fine.” 

“Weeeeell,” Aziraphle drew out the word, not sure how to break this to them. They still needed to find a way to explain this particular result to Gabriel, although considering how he felt about these particular suitors he probably wouldn’t care too much. Losing a chance to dip into the Device money bags would surely be a hard blow to his siblings, Aziraphale considered. 

“I think,” he said slowly, considering possible paths, “our best plan is for you to continue to act as though you are attempting to win my hand, outside of my rooms that is. And things like...the way you were at dinner last night? Talking over me to each other?” the two nodded, attempting to look shamefaced, but that was quickly reversed by Aziraphale’s next words. “You need to keep doing that. The more you can irritate my siblings through poor manners the happier they will be to see the back of you, they won’t care that you failed at that point.” Anathema’s eyes had been narrowed in thought, but she quickly nodded, seeing the point. 

“We’ll play it that way, it seems like our best bet,” she agreed. Newt still looked rather shocked, but nodded in agreement. Anathema gave him a gentle smile and a soft kiss, then stood and stretched. “Any hope of breakfast around here?” she asked Aziraphale, who gestured to the door, where a tray waited on a table. “Oh,” she flushed. “Not very good situational awareness for a knight, is it,” she mumbled as she fetched the tray and, for lack of anywhere else, set it down on the bed. She and Newt fell on the food as if starving, and Aziraphale decided to leave them to it. Just as he was turning to go, though, he thought of something. “Oh, if you want, my bathing chamber is through my bedchamber. You’re welcome to make use of the facilities there.” The look of gratitude on Anathema’s face was one that could only be truly appreciated by another woman with long hair who spent most of their life wrapped in steel plate armour. As such Aziraphale could only smile slightly in return and leave them to it. 

Turning away once more, Aziraphale left the room. This should work out well. They would, sadly, leave Haven and he would miss them but they would have each other. That was more than either of them had when they arrived there. 

Aziraphale saw his two friends off down into the city. It turned out that they were both planning to stay for a while, Anathema to carry out some business for her house, Newt to be close to her. Aziraphale had suggested that they make the acquaintance of Madame Tracey and tell her he sent them, in order to enjoy the best music and food in the city. Not everyone who went to Madame Tracey’s was interested in the upstairs business, after all. Aziraphale certainly wasn’t. 

Over the next month Aziraphale had to deal with four attempted suitors, all of them from Hel. The kingdom was clearly determined to forge stronger ties with Haven, but this was getting ridiculous. Each of these suitors had been completely identical. They showed up the same day that the previous one failed, and that was the only way they actually knew that it wasn’t the same person coming back over and over again. 

They were young, with dark skin and short dark hair. Their names (and Aziraphale honestly wished he was making this up) were, in order of attempt, Eric, Erich and Erik and finally, Eirik. The first one who showed up was basically like all the other suitors, didn’t care to get to know Aziraphale for who he was but simply followed him around, glowering at him and occasionally telling him what to do. Aziraphale still wasn’t sure where they got the idea they had the right, except that his brother was essentially offering him for marriage to anyone who would take him and he did seem to be going along with it. He took great pleasure in drugging Eric a different way for every one of three nights he spent in the palace, locking him up and slipping away down into the city. 

When the second one arrived (while the first was being seen off by Gabriel with much head shaking and disappointment) everyone had been taken aback. When he introduced himself it suddenly became clear why the previous suitor had spelled his name as part of the introduction. Erich was not really any different from his...twin? They wouldn’t expound on exactly how they were related, but there must be some very close familial ties in there, surely. 

Erich followed faithfully in Eric’s footsteps, having almost but not quite identical conversations with everyone he spoke to, and again got drugged three times. He hadn’t done anything to really tick Aziraphale off other than exist and follow him around in the library, so Aziraphale didn’t choose to exact any worse revenge upon him. Well, not much. He did slip a little something in the guy’s shorts to give him a nasty rash. The guy twitched and tried not to scratch the whole way out of the Palace, and when he passed a third identical copy of himself, Erich, Aziraphale was starting to get really pissed. 

Erich somehow rubbed Aziraphale much more the wrong way than his two doppelgangers had. He was much pushier, and much more demanding of Aziraphale’s attention. He had seen this behaviour once or twice at Madame Tracey’s, but never pointed at him, and the door guard would generally intervene and kick the offender out. The guards were not about to step in unless he actually laid hands on Aziraphale, and he seemed to have enough sense not to do that. He clearly knew that the other suitors had slept within Aziraphale’s suite and thought that meant something very different to what it did, and the way he spoke made Aziraphale’s skin crawl. 

Aziraphale had finished his work for the day and settled in in the library to read for pleasure for a little while. He was deeply into a favourite book when it was suddenly ripped out of his hands. Erich was standing over him, a sneer on his face as he flipped the book around to look it over. 

“Reading,” the man sneered. “What’s the use of that? Nothing worth knowing was learned by reading.” He threw the book aside without hesitation, not caring that it landed in such a way that its elderly spine cracked as it fell open and it began to spill pages out onto the floor. Aziraphale stared at it in horror. HIs mother had given him that book. Horror quickly transformed into very well hidden rage. This meant WAR. He was forced to sit and listen, even as one of his most precious possessions crumbled to pieces on the floor, as the brute expounded on the wonders of hunting and fighting. 

Finally the bore wandered away to find himself something to eat. Aziraphale had not offered anything from his personal stores, that man did not deserve to eat the only edible food in the entire palace. Aziraphale waited until he was out of sight, then dropped to his knees and carefully gathered the pieces of the book together. He carried them carefully to his office and laid them carefully in his writing box, locking the lid on them to protect them from further damage. He would repair the book later. For now, he had plans to make. 

Marjory was a great help. She was both utterly furious with Erich and thought Aziraphale’s plan was absolutely hilarious. She offered a few suggestions and improvements, and they quickly got the whole thing underway. 

For Erich, Aziraphale was going to be using the most controlled dosage of the short term potions he’d ever calculated. Erich had, up to this point, made the best impression of the three on Gabriel, and that needed to be turned around fast. He also got Marjory to spread the word around town that there would be no lessons for the next three days, as he was going to need to stay in the palace to establish solid alibis. If it were at all possible, he was going to make sure he was with one of his siblings or at least a servant who wasn’t Marjory every time Erich turned up somewhere he shouldn’t be doing something he shouldn’t be doing. 

He organised with Marjory to slip the potion into a variety of small foodstuffs that they could easily leave in Erich’s path. The first time, he found a plate of what he must have assumed was Aziraphale’s lunch waiting for him in the library. It wasn’t a guarantee that he would eat the single spiked thing on the plate, but that turned out not to be an issue. He ate the entire plate of food, all but licking the plate clean. He was asleep within minutes, and Aziraphale and Marjory jumped into action. Aziraphale opened the wall and they slipped out into the library proper, grabbed the limp body between them and dragging him into the wall. 

They hurried down the corridors, knowing that they needed to time this just right. The handmaiden’s rooms (not to be confused with the maids rooms, handmaidens being specially selected young noble ladies who attended the princesses) were along a single long corridor, and men were forbidden by tradition to go there. As such, no man of Haven would dream of setting foot there (or so Gabriel believed) and so no guard was mounted on their rooms. Since the young ladies themselves were not looking to ruin their virtue before they could arrange an advantageous marriage the system did basically work out. Erich was about to be found in a very compromising position indeed, in a part of the castle he would actually be able to get to. 

Aziraphale had thought about several options that would have annoyed Gabriel more, mostly involving his favourite (disgusting and supposedly very healthy) snack, but they all involved Erich ending up in Gabriel’s rooms and that just...wasn’t a physical possibility. Only Aziraphale had the ability to sneak into Gabriel’s rooms, not that anyone knew that he could. 

So now they dragged Erich out of the wall and into one of the handmaidens rooms (they did make sure not to pick anyone too young or easily horrified) and laid him out sprawled on the bed, an piece of rather intimate apparel arranged so it appeared that it had been in his fist. The man’s face was just starting to twitch, a sign that he was waking up, and the pair of tricksters bolted back into the wall even as the sound of many young women’s voices approached the rooms. 

Moments later, screams of terror followed by shrieks of indignation resounded through the hallways of the palace. Aziraphale and Marjory were still racing through the hidden passages, heading to the other side of the palace where they exited into a well hidden bower, emerging to wander the paths of the garden with a number of members of the nobility who were taking advantage of the sun soaked grounds. 

By the time the uproar reached them, Aziraphale was beginning to realise that he quite possibly wasn’t going to need any of his further plans. Erich was being held between two very muscular, very armed men with furious faces as they dragged him into the throne room of the palace and threw him down on his knees before Gabriel. 

Gabriel’s face was dark with fury as he stared down at the man. “You. You come here claiming to be trying for the hand of my youngest brother, and then you act like this? You violate the rooms of those for whom I have the greatest responsibility of all, who I am pledged to keep safe while they dwell in my house instead of their parents’? Explain yourself!” 

“I...I…” Erich looked around wildly. “I...I was in the prince’s rooms then...I just woke up there, right before they came in. I sat up on the bed, and then they came in the door and were screaming and…” he glanced around wildly once more. “I would never…”

“Never get caught, I expect,” Gabriel’s face was rigid with resolve. “Count yourself lucky that your life is not forfeit this day. You will be escorted to our border with Hel, where you will be met by guards from their royal house. I wish you better luck explaining yourself to them. Perhaps with more time to apply your limited brainpower to the problem you will come up with something.” He gestured sharply to the guards. “Get him out of my sight. Send a messenger bird to Hel so that you will be met at the border.” The men nodded respectfully, seized Erich’s arms once more and dragged him from the room. 

They all thought that was the end of that; no more of those strange, identical men. That is, until two days later, when Erich would have been leaving previously, and (obviously unaware of the previous goings on) yet another dark skinned, black haired young man strolled into the Hall to present himself. “I am Eirich of Hel,” he started his introduction, only to be interrupted. 

“NO.” Gabriel glared down from the thrown. “Leave, or be made to leave. We will accept no more of your...whatever you are...as suitors. Be gone.” Two of the guards stepped forward, faces dark, and the young man quickly did the sensible thing, all but bolting back out of the palace and then out of Haven city. 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief to see the last of them. He felt a little guilty, he hadn’t intended for Erich to end up in that much trouble (he thought maybe Marjory had, it had been her suggestion after all) but he could not bring himself to regret the outcome. 

Rather than reverse the previous message, Aziraphale hadn’t reinstated lessons for the three days that Erich was supposed to be taking up his time. He had snuck down to Madame Tracey’s both nights for Tara’s lessons, and to appreciate the new music she was writing, but he hadn’t gone out in the street, not wanting the children to know he was here and yet still not holding lessons. 

He was very much looking forward to getting lessons going again tonight, and he knew that the children would be very excited to get back to it as well. He was making his way down the street to the scriptorium when he was distracted by shouts from an alleyway. The tone of the voices quickly turned his footsteps; there was a cruelty there he had heard a few times and it never boded well for the target. Since more than once the target had been one of his students, he always kept an ear out and intervened when he could. Fortunately the gangs were rather cowardly and the mere sight of an adult would generally send them scurrying. If that didn’t work Aziraphale was actually rather good at taking care of himself and others. 

He entered the alleyway cautiously, scoping out the situation. A group of young toughs were gathered around something on the ground and appeared to be poking at it with sticks. Decided to go with gentle shock rather than fury Aziraphale spoke in a basically friendly tone. 

“What have you got there, lads?” the young men jumped, whirling, and seeing ‘Ezra’ fled. Aziraphale made his way over, thinking they had probably been tormenting a kitten or puppy, but a hiss had him slowing his steps and squinting to see in the low light. Something moved on the ground, and light from an uncurtained window reflected off scales. “Oh. Oh dear, what are you doing here? They must have brought you in from the forest. Will you let me help you, dear? I can get you home, not until the end of the night but I can.” 

He approached slowly, squinting to make out the snake’s reactions to his presence. He stopped about a foot away and crouched, eyeing the serpent. It was large, a good two to three meters long. Aziraphale considered it carefully. If it was truly a wild snake, it wasn’t going to let him touch it, but the more he thought about it the more unlikely that seemed. It was far more likely that this was a pet that they had stolen from its home. The children would probably know whose it was, it was the type of thing to be a subject of some fascination for small people after all. He put his hand down on the ground while he was thinking how best to approach picking it up, and the snake took over. 

WIth a lunge (Aziraphale thought for a moment he was in serious trouble) it made for his arm and swarmed up him. He barely managed to hold still, and he did palm a small dagger in his other hand just in case he had to save himself from the snake. The snake, however, simply settled itself around his shoulders in what was apparently a position it was accustomed to. It raised its face to Aziraphale’s for a long moment, tongue flickering rapidly in and out, then lowered its head onto his shoulder facing forwards. 

“Well, if you’re coming we’d better go, can’t keep the children waiting after all,” Aziraphale said softly. “I guess we’re spending the night together, I’ll try to find your home, someone is sure to know where you come from.” The snake shifted just slightly, giving the tiniest squeeze to Aziraphale’s shoulders, as he stood straight and made his way out of the alley and on to the scriptorium. 

The children were looking quite nervous by the time Aziraphale made his way to the Scriptorium. They greeted him with great relief, and even greater curiosity when they saw his unusual passenger. “Mr Ezra, you have a snake!” one little girl exclaimed, and Aziraphale could almost have sworn that the hiss in his ear was laughter. 

“Yes, Amelia dear, I do. Do you know who he belongs to, any of you? He had fallen foul of some of the young ruffians down the way, I need to find his home. Anyone?” he asked the question quietly even as he led the children through the scriptorium. None of the children could identify the snake’s owner, and Aziraphale sighed with a shrug. 

The snake’s head had come up off Aziraphale’s shoulder, tongue flickering rapidly in and out and head turning as it surveyed their surroundings. When they reached the little hidden ‘schoolroom’ it hissed right by Aziraphale’s ear and he jumped, startled. Deciding that talking to it might be calming for it, he began to quietly explain exactly what was happening, showing the snake the littlest children at their lessons and the older children, most of whom were on to studying history or legal matters. Some of them were working on creating illicit copies of documents that were held exclusively in the Scriptorium. The snake seemed to be taking in every single thing around them, observing what each child was engaged in. When classes ended a few hours later, the snake watched the way the room was restored for the class of future scribes, highborn all, who would be working there the next day. 

Aziraphale watched the children slip out into the evening air in dribs and drabs, making sure not to form a block that would gain the attention of the Watch. Once they were all gone, he locked the inner Scriptorium door and left through the outer one. “Well, my dear, let’s go find some dinner,” he daringly stroked a finger over the snake’s head, to which it responded with a soft hiss and gentle nudge to the side of his neck. 

Aziraphale considered. Will would not have a play on tonight, so after a few moments he turned his feet back towards Madame Tracey’s. The evening crowd would probably still be thick, but he could sit and enjoy the music and have something to eat before catching up with Tara quickly. Since he had snuck her the books about musical composition from the library she didn’t really need him anymore; she was well on the way to be a top class composer. A low born composer - his brother would have kittens if he knew. 

The snake snuggled down against Aziraphale’s clothes as he walked down the street, and Aziraphale, after glancing down, hurried his steps. It wasn’t freezing out, but it wasn’t particularly warm either, and he thought he should probably get his little friend inside as quickly as he could. 

When he reached Madame Tracey’s he found hardly a seat available and would have ended up sharing a table with several other people. However when they saw his companion they quickly abandoned the table and, after glancing around the busy common room, decided that staying just for the music wasn’t worth it. Since they had already eaten, Aziraphale didn’t feel particularly guilty to chase out a few people who wouldn’t have been bringing in upstairs business anyway. 

Tracey saw him where he was sitting, and sent a server to take his order. Soon enough he was tucking into a delightful pasta dish. The snake flicked its tongue at the food once or twice, but the first time Aziraphale made a noise of pleasure at a flavour it drew itself up, staring at him with what, Aziraphale was sure, would have been wide eyes if such a thing was possible. He shrugged slightly and mumbled, “‘s good. You’d like it too, if you grew up eating my brother’s idea of ‘food’.” The snake continued to watch him eat, although it did relax its posture slightly. 

Aziraphale sighed happily as he pushed his plate away and picked up his tankard, settling back in his chair. “This is the life,” he murmured, beginning to stroke the snake again. “Much better than those stuffy palace parties.” 

When Madame Tracey eventually joined him at his table, she raised an eyebrow at his scaly friend. “Who’s this?” she enquired, looking it over. 

“Don’t know,” Aziraphale shrugged. “Rescued him from some of the young toughs down near the Scriptorium. I take it you don’t know who in town might keep such a lovely fellow? I certainly can’t...take him home with me,” the pause and significant glance made Tracey nod with agreement. 

“Well, I haven’t seen or heard anything about him, but he can stay here if need be. I’ll put the word around, hopefully his owner will come forward.” She smiled at the snake, who raised his head and flicked his tongue silently at her, then lowered it again and seemed to snuggle even closer to Aziraphale if that was possible. 

“I don’t think he wants to stay,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, my dear fellow, but I can’t take you home with me and you’re clearly not a wild snake so I will not sentence you to certain death by taking you out into the forest. Tracey will take care of you until your human comes to get you, how about that?” The snake hissed with what sounded rather like disgust, but Aziraphale was sure at this point that he was just projecting his own feelings onto the serpent. “Come, now, don’t be like that. I’ll see you every night until you find your home, how’s that? You wouldn’t like my home anyway, it’s cold and just...not that great really.” Glancing around the room Aziraphale realised he must have lost track of time more than he thought. 

“I’d actually better head off,” he said to Tracey. The snake immediately began to uncoil from around him, slithering down to wind itself into a pile on the table. Aziraphale and Tracey both stared at it for a long moment, then glanced at each other quickly. Neither spoke, and Aziraphale gently stroked the scales on top of the snake’s head. “Thank you for spending the evening with me,” he said softly, and the snake hissed, tongue flickering out to caress his palm for a moment before it dropped its head down into the middle of the pile of coils. “Well, I think I have been dismissed,” Aziraphale chuckled, and Tracey waved him off to the backroom with a smile. 

Crowley was in shock. This...was not what he had expected when he slipped into Haven. Oh, he knew the city state’s reputation they had a deliberately uneducated populace and keeping knowledge away from the common folk, that was why he was here after all. He hadn’t counted on, after transforming to slip his way into their special book building, being caught by the young humans. That had not been at all fun, but he couldn’t transform back, the last thing he needed right now was for word of a Fey in the city to get around. Then that voice, strong but kind, had cut into the situation and the next thing he knew he was free. 

Choosing to go with the man almost hadn’t been a choice; he had been warm and felt safe, and most of all he smelled Fey. Fey enough to have a significant amount of Fey blood, which meant only one thing in this Kingdom - he was a royal. To be walked into the exact building that had been his target was a shock; finding out that his companion was running secret classes for the children of the common folk was a bigger one. 

Seeing the children embracing knowledge had warmed Crowley’s heart hugely; he had wanted nothing more than to tell the human how he felt but he was limited to hissing at him approvingly. Knowing that this man was encouraging education, nurturing these children in their quest for knowledge, made him feel like his heart was going to explode. That he was doing so against his family’s wishes made his reaction even more powerful. 

When he realised that the man thought he was a pet, he was insulted, but he could acknowledge that he wasn’t exactly acting like a wild snake. Still, he was his own serpent, thank you very much, no ownership required. To prove it he moved onto the table, freeing Ezra to leave. He definitely did not feel a wrench in his chest as he let him go. When Ezra made his way through a door that definitely didn’t go back out into the street Crowley was both confused and curious. As soon as the woman left the table, presumably to fetch the basket she had been mumbling about, he moved. He was across the room in moments, and through the door that Ezra had taken, just in time to see the wall click shut with nary a seam in sight to hint at a hidden doorway. His tongue flickered swiftly, and he tasted the magic on the wall; very old Fey magic. It was possible that it would answer to him, but he wasn’t going to test it. 

“So,” the voice behind him had him whirling around, head raised as if to strike from the shock. “Not just a snake then, hmmm? Well, come on, dearie, there's not much I haven’t seen in this world, no need to be shy.” The woman who ran the establishment had come through the door behind him and was watching him with an amused glint in her eye. “I’m very good at keeping people’s secrets, don’t you worry. I keep his,” she nodded at the wall. “And no, I won’t be sharing them with you, either, any more than I told him what you are.” She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but she shook her head and focussed on Crowley again. “Honestly, you’ll be much more comfortable if you change; this building doesn’t always have the best temperature regulation at night and I’d hate for you to get chilled in that form.”

With a sigh, seeing the jig was clearly up, Crowley transformed. He scowled at the human woman, who simply shrugged and smiled. “There you go. Come on out with me, I’ll get you something to eat, you must be famished. You can tell me all about yourself while you eat.” 

The offer of food was one that Crowley very willingly took her up on; he was starving. Healing the damage the boys had dealt him (his snake form was rather vulnerable and they had not been gentle) had taken a lot out of him. He walked out into the common room and found it quite suddenly almost deserted; only one table was in use and the people sitting around it were nothing like the patrons. A group of beautiful women, wrapped in a variety of brilliantly coloured silk wraps, were gathered around the table with plates of food in front of them, and a few more plainly garbed maids were clustered at one end. The conversation was cheerful as they dug into their food, and Crowley found himself smiling as Madame Tracey guided him to a seat at that very table and scooped a bowl of pasta from the dish in the middle. He took a bite and sighed happily; the food was as good as Ezra’s reactions had made it seem. He didn’t eat all that often, but today he was famished. 

“So, what can I call you?” inquired the proprietress. “You can call me Madame Tracey,” she added carefully. 

Crowley smiled at the care. He was a very small fey, really, and could not use anyone's name against them, but he wasn’t going to tell anyone that. People did not need to know that he couldn’t do that. “You can call me Crowley,” he replied with a respectful nod. 

“Here we have Rose, Carnation, Lily, Orchid, and Peony,” the young women gathered around the table were clearly foreign, or exotic in some other way. One was clearly at least part Fey and not trying to hide it, the light pink shade of her skin very much not a human colour. Crowley nodded to all of them, not trying to hide his eyes, the only part of him that was clearly non-human. The women all nodded to him but did not attempt to engage him in their conversation. Tracey pointedly did not introduce either the fiddler or the kitchen staff, but it clearly wasn’t intended as a snub; she was being careful because they only went by their true names. 

“So, are you here to try for the Prince’s hand?” Madame Tracey was looking at him closely, eyes narrow. Crowley frowned, not sure what she was referring to. Seeing his confusion, Madame Tracey pulled out a flier and handed it over. As he read it, a plan formed in his mind. He could get closer to the royal family, for at least a few days, and discover more about what exactly was going on in this kingdom.


	4. An unexpected suitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you all for reading, I'm so glad you're enjoying this silly story! I hope you enjoy this chapter; they finally meet and both KNOW that they've met. Do please let me know what you think, even just a keysmash is amazing!

Aziraphale had spent the morning in something of a daze as he considered the events of the previous night. He couldn’t get the snake out of his thoughts, and he was truly struggling to focus on the task he had set himself for the morning, which was the mammoth one of Gabriel’s accounts. 

He was further distracted from his work by the arrival of a page to summon him to the throne room to meet a new suitor. He swallowed his sigh; he had more than half hoped that everything that happened with Erich would have discouraged Gabriel from the idea of suitors, but no such luck. He made his way to the throne room, dismissing the page who eagerly disappeared to take care of something, anything, else. 

Aziraphale entered the throne room quietly, as was his custom, taking his time to observe what, exactly, was going on. There was a man dressed entirely in black, with hair so flamingly red Aziraphale wondered if it was a natural colour. Then he saw the man’s eyes and ears and his question was answered - this man was full blooded fae. His golden eyes had a vertical pupil, and his ears were classically pointed. Aziraphale felt a pang he couldn’t put a word to as their eyes met and the man smiled at him. 

“Ah, Aziraphale, there you are,” the impatience in Gabriel’s voice wouldn’t be obvious to anyone except members of his family, but Aziraphale felt it like a blow. He couldn’t understand, when he knew how terrible his brother was, why Gabriel could still hurt him like this. 

“Here I am,” Aziraphale agreed, playing the role and trying to hide his hurt from Gabriel. “Who’s our guest?” 

“Call me Crowley,” Crowley stepped forward, a hand extended. Aziraphale smiled at the wording, understanding exactly what it meant, and wished that the fae didn’t have his own full first name. Oh, he didn’t have the secret second name that each of them kept absolutely secret, but it was still such a risk. Still, something about the man’s eyes helped him feel better about it, there was something there that reassured Aziraphale about his intentions. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale nodded. “I take it I am to have the pleasure of your company for the next few days?” 

“It would seem so,” the fae bowed in a way that seemed slightly mocking, but the mockery seemed to be pointed towards himself rather than Aziraphale. 

“Yes, well,” Gabriel was obviously uncomfortable; this was much worse than a mere common born knight! At least she had been both human and female; they might have fae blood (enough on their mother’s side that she hadn’t emerged from Underhill in years) but to deliberately add more fae to the family was unthinkable in Gabriel’s eyes. “Be welcome in our home and at our hearth,” he said to Crowley with a nod. “Aziraphale will see that you have all you need.” It was obvious how wrongfooted the Prince Regent was, and Aziraphale carefully concealed the humour he felt at this situation. 

Aziraphale made an expansive gesture and Crowley crossed to join him, casting an amused smile towards Gabriel as he went. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home and at your hearth,” he replied, sealing the circle of Guesting Law with his words, and Gabriel visibly deflated. By saying his half, after all, Gabriel had bound the kingdom to being good hosts. If Crowley had chosen not to say his half he would not have been bound to the rules of Guesting Law, but there would have been nothing Gabriel could do about it. Now all were protected. 

Aziraphale led the way out of the throne room and back towards his own rooms. “So,” he said slowly. “Crowley…” there was something about this suitor that was throwing him off his game; he wasn’t sure what it was, but he just couldn’t seem to put his thoughts together. He couldn’t even summon the polite small talk he had been drilled in since childhood. There was something about Crowley that felt incredibly familiar, but he wasn’t sure what it was, and it was throwing Aziraphale off his game even more than the fae’s intense regard. 

“Relax, your highness,” Crowley grinned at him, eyes dancing wickedly. “I’m just looking to get to know you. Go about your day, I won’t get in your way. Oh, I forgot. I have a little gift here for you.” Crowley drew out a cloth bag and held it out to Aziraphale, who took it, eyes widening. He recognised the style of packaging used by the best sweetmeats seller in the city. He opened the bag to find a selection of the finest truffles in Haven. Chocolate dipped delights with wonderful centres. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly, eyes wide. The only gift more thoughtful than this would have been a book, and that would only have been thoughtful if the person doing the giving was sure he didn’t have it already. He drew one of the truffles out of the bag and raised it to his lips, then bit it in half. The crisp snap of the thin chocolate heralded a flood of violet-flavoured liquid into his mouth. It was sweet and fresh and the chocolate set it off perfectly. To avoid any mess, he quickly tucked the rest of the truffle into his mouth. 

Crowley was watching him avidly, and Aziraphale blushed as he realised how ill-mannered he was being. He really couldn’t regret it, though. These were something he would never dare to even consider buying and having brought up to the palace, Gabriel’s leniency over food only stretched so far. The shop closed relatively early in the day and he’d never managed to actually get to it while it was open. The treats lived up to every description he’d ever been given of them and then some. 

Crowley smiled, his face softening by the warm expression, looking very pleased with himself, and Aziraphale had to look away, his cheeks flushing. “Thank you,” he managed to remember his manners well enough not to mumble, and glanced at Crowley from under his lashes. “I am heading to the library; I have a large number of books in need of restoration. Feel free to accompany me, or to settle into your room here,” he gestured to the comfortable quarters he had led Crowley to. Crowley glanced inside, nodded, then turned away. “No need for that. We have limited time to spend together, I would not wish to waste any that I could be spending in your company.” 

Aziraphale found himself wordless at that, and turned away and walked fast for the library. This was very dangerous; he could feel his traitorous heart beating faster within his chest. He fiercely reminded it that he could not give anyone what they wanted in a relationship, and besides his freedom was important to him. 

He heard Crowley’s footsteps behind and then beside him, the redhead standing close enough that their shoulders brushed. The warmth of the contact was startling; no one ever really touched him, not on purpose. He didn’t seek it out, either, so he supposed that was on him. He was always worried that allowing physical contact with someone else would indicate an interest in...certain activities he did not wish to pursue. 

The brush of Crowley’s shoulder against his was warm and solid, a comforting presence, and a glance out of the corner of his eye showed the fae to be completely relaxed. Aziraphale simply focussed his attention on getting to the library as quickly as possible. He led the way speedily through the corridors, weaving around the few courtiers and servants rather than expecting them to make way for him. He didn’t notice the expression on Crowley’s face at this, but if he had he would have seen curiosity and admiration there. 

In the library, Aziraphale made his way to his little desk and took up a box that contained a book that had suffered severely from neglect on the library shelves. It astonished Aziraphale that the librarians would allow any of their precious volumes to be so poorly maintained, but it was not even the only one he had found. True, he was going deeper into the collection than many people bothered, but surely the job the librarians were hired to do was more than merely maintaining a facade? Aziraphale pushed the thoughts away and set about assessing what, exactly, this particular volume required to get it back into top shape. It wasn’t as badly off as he had feared, however, and he was soon able to set it aside and take up the box with his own precious volume inside. 

He settled in with his glues, needles and thread and the other accoutrement of his art and began to painstakingly piece the priceless tome back together. Crowley sat and watched, entranced by the precise movements and fine adjustments that he made in order to piece the book back together perfectly. 

When Aziraphale finally set the book aside to allow the glue to dry he realised that Crowley had just been sitting watching him work. He flushed a brilliant red, looking away from the Fey. Crowley reached forward to run a reverent finger over the cover of the book, Aziraphale watching him carefully out of the corner of his eye. 

“This book in particular matters to you, doesn’t it?” Crowley asked, curious. “I mean, obviously you care about the books in general, you take good care of them, but this one...you love this one.” 

Aziraphale smiled sadly at the cover of the book for a long moment, watching Crowley’s fingers gently stroke the soft leather. “My mother gave it to me,” he admitted after a long moment. “It was the last thing she ever gave me before she left.” He dragged his eyes away from Crowley’s hand and looked up into his odd fey eyes. The understanding he could see there hit him harder than he expected. “Would you...like to see some more of the palace?” he asked after a moment, the first time he’d offered any choice in their joint activities to a suitor. “There are some very fine gardens, I know many fey like gardens.” 

“I would love to see them, if you actually want to go out in them. We don’t have to,” Crowley assured him, and Aziraphale shrugged. 

“I enjoy them well enough, and I think I need to move around a bit,” he offered after a moment. Crowley nodded in acceptance of that statement, stood, and offered a hand to help Aziraphale up. Once he was standing he released it rather than placing it on his own forearm, allowing him to decide whether they would walk side by side or not. Aziraphale led the way to his personal favourite of the gardens, a small knot of greenery tucked away from where many people would bother to go. It allowed him a great deal of privacy, even with the guards around. 

Crowley smiled as he entered the garden, raising his face to the sunshine and just standing for a moment before he began to move around, inspecting the plants. Many received a soft grunt or a quiet word, but then he came upon a very scraggly looking specimen, quite out of place amongst the rest of the lush greenery. 

“What,” Crowley crouched to look directly into the heart of the bush, stroking one hand down a branch and dislodging several mostly dead leaves while his other hand felt the soil at its base, “is your problem? Everyone else here is thriving, and look at you! You’ve got the perfect sun positioning, you surely get as much water as any of the others. Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” The plant quivered slightly, despite the utter lack of any breeze to stir the air. Crowley harrumphed after a moment and stood, brushing his hands off. He glanced around and spotted a gardener kneeling a few rows over and called out to him. “Excuse me, this plant is being choked out by its companions here,” he indicated the sickly plant. “They’re stealing all of its nutrients. If it’s going to survive, it will need to be potted and fed up, maybe planted somewhere on its own afterwards or just kept in a pot.” He looked down at it, an expression both fond and disapproving on his face. “More than you deserve, really,” he told the plant. “Coddling, that’s what it is.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t say why it suddenly seemed so important to him, but he stepped forward and spoke to the gardener. “I’d like it potted well, with everything it needs, and brought to my suite,” he instructed. “I’m sure I can find a nice corner where it will look quite delightful once it has recovered.” He turned to find Crowley gaping at him, jaw hanging slightly loose. The fae quickly straightened, but Aziraphale had a feeling he’d done something that really shocked him. The gardner murmured assent and quickly went and grabbed a shovel, only to have it snatched from his hands by Crowley. 

“You can’t dig it up with this,” the fae hissed, eyes almost sparking with rage. “You’ll cut its roots, and the roots of the plants around it. None of them have done anything to deserve that. Go and get...you know what, never mind. Get me a pot, this big,” he indicated with his hands, “plenty of compost, some good soil, and gravel. Go.” He turned to the plant and knelt down beside it, then gently began to work his hands into the soil around it. He worked patiently, teasing the thicker and thinner roots from the soil until the plant came free. He shook his head at it, frowning. “Look at that pathetic root ball,” he scolded, running a finger down one root. “No wonder they were all able to bully and steal from you. You’ve nothing to work with! If you’re going to grow well up top, you have to put in the work to grow down below.” 

Just then the gardner panted up beside them pushing a barrow with Crowley’s requested supplies. The fae quickly set about preparing the plant’s new home; a good layer of gravel for drainage, then some compost and he lowered the plant in. Aziraphale knelt beside him when he saw the difficulty Crowley was about to have - he needed both hands to hold the plant, and both hands to move the soil to support it. He reached out and carefully slid his hands under Crowley’s, looking up to find the fae once staring at him again with that wide eyed, slack-jawed expression. He quickly shook himself out of it, turning back to focus on filling the pot with layers of dirt and compost until the plant was well supported. The gardener offered a watering can and Crowley carefully watered the newly potted plant. 

Aziraphale was about to request to have the plant brought to his rooms, but stopped. After everything they had done for it together, it didn’t seem right to have someone else deliver it to its new home. Instead, he wrapped both arms around the large pot and stood. Crowley stared for a long moment, eyes huge. 

“That’s...very heavy,” he commented offhandedly. “Are you sure you don’t want…” 

“It’s quite alright, I assure you,” Aziraphale smiled at him. “Come on, let’s find it the perfect place to thrive. Then we can come back out and look at more of the gardens; you’ll love the roses. They were always mother’s favourites.” He led the way back through the palace, again performing his little dance of moving around people rather than expecting them to move aside for him, and Crowley was beginning to truly believe that this was just his regular habit and not something he was putting on to show off. 

“AZIRAPHALE!” The furious roar brought Aziraphale skidding to a stop, arms tightening reflexively around the pot when he almost dropped it. The entire hallway frozen then abruptly emptied, people moving swiftly in every direction while somehow managing to not put out the vibe of ‘fleeing the scene’. Sandalphon came stalking along the hall, face twisted in rage. Aziraphale stood straighter, knowing what was coming but unable to do anything about it. “What do you think you are DOING?” The furious hiss was even worse than the bellow, sending a wave of ice down Aziraphale’s back, but he stood firm. 

“I am carrying my suitor’s gift back to my rooms,” he replied, meeting Sandalphon’s eyes and daring him to find something wrong with that. Of course, his brother did. 

“What are you, a MENIAL? We have SERVANTS for this sort of thing, Aziraphale. Order them; you should not be fetching and carrying for yourself! Just look at you; all over mud and twigs. Disgusting behaviour. Gabriel will hear about this!” Sandalphon turned and stormed away, muttering angrily under his breath. 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief as he left; he hadn’t been sure that he wouldn’t smash the pot out of his arms to make a point and Aziraphale found himself rather attached to the plant. 

“You alright, Angel?” Aziraphale flinched and turned to face Crowley, raising an eyebrow at him in surprise and Crowley coloured. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but honestly how else was he supposed to think about such a perfect person? He was gorgeous, he taught children, he was snarky and hilarious, he was clearly an angel. “Ngk, I mean...are you alright, though?” Aziraphale looked a little pale, and Crowley found himself worried. 

“I’ll be fine, my dear,” Aziraphale assured him. “Come, we’d better get dear...oh, he’ll need a name now, won’t he...any ideas?” 

“A name? For a plant?” Crowley found himself laughing, hard, at the idea. 

“Well, yes, if only because I’m more likely to succeed in keeping him alive if he has a name, because it will make me care about him more.” Aziraphale flushed as Crowley kept laughing, gasping for breath. 

“I...I’m sorry...I’m sorry,” the fae blurted out, seeing his face. “It’s just...naming plants. That’s hilarious. I’m really sorry.” Aziraphale huffed playfully and turned away so Crowley wouldn’t see the smile on his lips. Soon enough they were back in the safety of Aziraphale’s own suite, and Crowley began to snoop around for the best place to keep the plant. He quickly decided on a spot near a window where it would receive a few hours of sun in the morning, and then warm shade for the rest of the day. “This is perfect for what it needs. Probably got a bit too much sun where it was, too, which wouldn’t have helped it develop. Then when the others began to compete for its nutrients it couldn’t fight back.” 

“He still needs a name,” Aziraphale insisted. 

“It’s not a he,” Crowley said suddenly, and Aziraphale blinked. 

“What?” 

“Some plants are male or female,” Crowley hastened to explain, flushing brightly under Aziraphale’s gaze. “They grow only one type of flower and require another plant to supply what’s needed to fruit. Others are, well, hermaphroditic, for want of a better term. They produce everything that is needed for pollination on their own; this plant is one of those. It doesn’t require another plant to be involved to produce seeds.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale blinked and frowned slightly in thought. “Well, then. They need a name. Something gender neutral. Any ideas?” 

“Hmmm,” Crowley frowned, really thinking about it. Plants didn’t need names; fae could certainly tell you that for free, but Aziraphale’s expression was so hopeful he couldn’t help himself. “Well, what about Jay?” he asked after a moment. “I mean, s’just a j, so people won’t think you’re so strange for naming a plant?” 

Aziraphale beamed at him, eyes crinkling at the corners and Crowley felt as though he’d been punched. Oh no; he might be in deeper than he thought here. He’d really only intended to use the opportunity to enter the palace to discover more about the workings of this kingdom, or that’s what he’d told himself anyway. Now, though, with his stomach feeling as though someone had filled it with approximately a thousand butterflies, he wasn’t so sure. 

Aziraphale stroked a sickly leaf gently. “Well, Jay, I hope you’ll be very happy here,” he told the plant, and Crowley gave it a hard look, threatening it silently. The plant drew itself up taller, stretching its leaves higher, and he nodded with satisfaction. “Shall we return to the gardens, my dear?” Aziraphale offered Crowley his arm and the fae blinked, struck by the mental image of him reaching his arm out towards him the night before and the sense memory of what it had felt like to slither up that arm and wrap himself around the delightful warmth of the prince. Before he’d been waiting for too long he quickly looped an arm through Aziraphale’s, the contact sending his stomach on yet another swooping journey. 

Aziraphale tugged Crowley through the palace, pointing out different things and engaging him in a fascinating conversation about the history of the place; he was clearly a font of information about the place and Crowley found himself fascinated. Then they exited the palace halls into the rose gardens and Crowley was lost in wonder. This was...outside of underhill, where he didn’t care to be anyway, this was the most beautiful garden he had ever seen. Oh, you could sculpt a garden to be whatever you wanted in Underhill, but the plants would always grow exactly as you expected them to, there were no imperfections, no challenges. Crowley much preferred gardens and gardening in the human realms, where plants had a mind of their own and could defy your expectations. 

The riot of roses was a perfect example. They were pruned and beautiful but at the same time the blooms were everywhere and clearly not always where the gardeners would prefer them to grow. There must have been some rule about not trimming away buds, because there were flowers that thrust themselves out of bushes in some very odd places, such as one that was sticking out almost a foot to the right of its parent plant. Crowley was charmed. 

They wandered the paths, Aziraphale occasionally pointing out a particular favourite of his, but mostly in silence as Crowley soaked in the beauty of the place. 

They reached the centre of what Crowley now realised must be a maze, a maze of thickly grown rose bushes surrounded by more beds of the beautiful plants. “Gabe doesn’t like it,” Aziraphale suddenly said as he sat down on a bench to stare up at the tower walls of roses. “But it’s mother’s favourite garden. She left very precise instructions for the gardeners before she left and she’s still the queen, so Gabriel can’t do anything about it. So the gardners keep it the way she wanted.”

“She had excellent taste,” was all Crowley could say as he stared up at the enormous hedges. 

They stayed outside for the rest of the afternoon, at one point pursuing each other through another maze, laughing uproariously as they did so. Finally, panting, they came to rest on yet another bench, this one with a view out over the city and Aziraphale sighed softly. “I’d love to be out there,” he murmured, quietly enough that Crowley wasn’t sure if he was meant to have heard or not. 

He was just pondering whether to answer or not when the sound of a gong rang through the palace halls and Aziraphale darted to his feet, eyes wide. 

“Oh. Oh dear,” Aziraphale glanced down at his clothing, which was certainly the worse for wear after their adventures of the day. “That’s the dinner gong, I totally lost track of time, oh Gabriel is going to kill me if I turn up looking like this, but if we’re late it will be even worse…” he was clearly panicking and Crowley felt his heart go out to him. He reached forward and touched a hand to Aziraphale’s shoulder, sending a soft whisper of power through his clothes, refreshing them until they looked like new. 

Aziraphale lifted wide eyes to Crowley, a tiny, please smile lifting his lips. There was something so vulnerable about that smile that Crowley’s heart twisted in his chest, sending a physical ache through him at the thought of why Aziraphale was looking at him like that. 

Then Aziraphale grabbed his hand and dragged him along back towards the palace. “Come on, we’d best not be late,” he called over his shoulder, not that he was giving Crowley any kind of choice in ‘coming along’. They were soon standing at the table, Gabriel eyeing them both carefully then looking further down the table for something to take offense to. He soon found it in the form of a younger cousin who received quite the dressing down before anyone was allowed to be seated. 

Looking at the food, Crowley managed not to frown. He wasn’t sure that receiving it on time from the kitchen would have truly improved it, but Gabriel’s lecture had delayed the meal long enough that food that should have been hot was barely warm, and oddly congealed as well. 

He managed to eat a little of it, but it was so bland and had such an odd texture that he couldn’t bring himself to eat any more. Aziraphale seemed to be having the same problem but at the same time he was clearly determined to soldier on with eating it. Surreptitious glances around the table told Crowley that this was the case for almost everyone. The only person with something that appeared to at least mimic pleasure was Gabriel, who was eating with something that resembled relish. 

Finally, the interminable meal was done. Aziraphale had at least attempted to keep up a conversation to make the time pass but the addition of table partners made it much harder to carry on any kind of private talk. 

Finally Gabriel stood from the table and the rest of the court rose as well, many with barely disguised relief on their faces. Aziraphale gladly led Crowley away from the table and back to his own rooms, where they sat down in a pair of very comfortable chairs in a sitting room. Aziraphale, with a little smile at Crowley, flicked a hand at a small box on a side table with a muttered word and music began to spill from it. Crowley’s eyes widened and he revised his opinion of the strength of Aziraphale’s fae blood. He was clearly more capable than Crowley had thought; much more perhaps. He could probably learn the little trick that Crowley had used to clean his clothing. 

“You know,” Crowley said slowly, relaxing more fully now that they were in private, prying eyes and ears kept away by bonds of tradition and law. “Not many part-fae would be able to make that work.” 

Aziraphale bit his lip, casting his eyes down, then looked back up to Crowley. “I’m...more fae than the rest of the family,” he finally admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “Mother took a full fae to consort, he was my father. He left the court when I was only a toddler, I don’t remember him. The others like to remind me that we aren’t full siblings, and that I’m less human than them, though. Probably part of the reason why Gabriel’s so horrified by the thought of you as a suitor, even though we wouldn’t be having children,” Aziraphale stopped talking suddenly, mouth snapping shut, and Crowley cocked his head. There was something there, something that Aziraphale wasn’t saying. They sat in silence for a long moment, the longer the moment drew on Crowley became less and less certain about what he should do. Should he ask? Redirect the conversation away? The curiosity bit at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to give it voice. Instead he pointed to something else in the room, a small sculpture, and asked about it. 

Aziraphale seized the new topic and began to explain about the little silver statue, which was something his father had left for him when he left the court. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what, if any, magic it had but he still loved it. He didn’t blame his father for leaving; all his life he’d been told that fae were fickle like that. He had known that Aziraphale would be loved by his mother, so for all the love that fae felt for children he wouldn’t have had the worry about how Aziraphale would be treated to hold him there. 

Crowley, with a glance at Aziraphale for permission, lifted the statue. “Thought so,” he said, and touched a mark on the bottom, feeding it a tiny drop of power. The statue burst into life, and Aziraphale gave a bark of surprise as it straightened. 

“Oh,” he said, tears pooling in his eyes. “I...oh.” The tears spilled down his cheeks, and the tiny fairy, for that was what the statue was, flew over to him. “I...I forgot you,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Lilith. How could I forget you?” 

The little bells that were the things voice chimed, and Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Yes, I suppose that’s true, they did all tell me you weren’t real,” he agreed to something Crowley hadn’t understood. Well, the little statue was created for Aziraphale after all. There was no reason why anyone else should be able to understand her. 

Aziraphale turned his wet face towards Crowley, an expression of such deep gratitude on his face that he was held stock still by it. “Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, deliberately setting aside the risk that was expressing true, deep gratitude to a fae and choosing to trust his suitor. Crowley didn’t like that; if he’d been anyone else he could have commanded Aziraphale to do whatever he wanted to repay the debt he had just acknowledged. Instead he waved a hand, dismissing the gratitude without acknowledgement, refusing to accept the record of debt that tried to latch onto his magic. With anyone else he would have gladly taken it, used it to his advantage, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale glanced out the window and frowned slightly, clearly worried. Crowley saw that the time was approaching when he’d been at the scriptorium the night before and thought of the children who would be waiting for their lessons. He wondered how Aziraphale had been deceiving the other suitors; he’d probably just been drugging them. 

“Can I trust you, Crowley?” the words were murmured, almost as though they weren’t being asked to him but about him, and after a moment Aziraphale stood. “I must take my leave of you for the evening, my dear,” he declared. “Do excuse me. I shall see you in the morning, but now I must go.” 

Crowley just smiled, lifting a hand to wave him off, and turned his attention back to the little fairy, who was now flitting around the room inspecting things. She found Jay and gave a joyful cry, flying down to stroke its leaves gently with silver hands. 

Crowley smiled and stood, making his way to the wall and stroking it lightly, seeking its secret. There it was; a spell that required a full or nearly full blooded fae to command it, in combination with other things Crowley wasn’t sure of. So. He couldn’t force it to answer to him, he would need its other secrets, and he was in no rush to discover them. Instead, he sat back down on the couch and thought. If he wiggled his way down he could maybe arrange to meet Aziraphale in down again, but would the Madam keep his secret if he appeared again? He doubted it; he wasn’t actually sure she would keep his secret right now, never mind if he appeared under her nose once more. 

Instead he settled in on the couch, enjoying the music, and created a little light for Lillith to chase around the room, trilling with delight. After a few hours, once the palace had sunk into dark silence, Crowley transformed and went sneaking down the corridors to see what he could learn. He quickly set a ‘don’t notice me’ spell on himself once he realised how many guards there were in the hallways; at least two at the doors of each royal apartment. 

He didn’t find anything half as interesting as Aziraphale’s suite in any of his half-siblings rooms. It was as though they had received the complete lack of imagination from their fae heritage and nothing else; there was nothing in any of their rooms that would be unexpected, except for a stack of mail on Michael’s writing desk, tied together with a ribbon, from someone named Ligur, a Duke of Hel. 

Eventually Crowley returned to his own room within Aziraphale’s suite. He hadn’t really learned anything important or interesting, unless one counted the fact that Gabriel’s favourite ‘treat’ was apparently a snowy white carrot that tasted like absolutely nothing but somehow still left a very bad taste in the mouth. Crowley deeply regretted trying it. 

He slid up the side of his bed and under the covers before transforming and sighing happily at the comfort of the mattress beneath him. He didn’t need to sleep, no full blooded fae did, but he enjoyed it. 

He woke a few hours later to the sound of giggling and stumbling footsteps to find Aziraphale next to his bed. The wall was standing open, and the clearly inebriated prince must have come out in the wrong room. Thinking quickly, Crowley stood and gave the wall a gentle push to close it, then wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist. 

“Cr...Crow-ley?” Aziraphale blinked at him for a long moment, clearly confused at this turn of events. 

“Yes, Angel. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Crowley started to encourage Aziraphale towards the door, but the prince instead staggered towards Crowley’s own bed, swiftly burrowing under the covers, his rather worn slippers falling from his feet to lie on the floor beside the bed. In moments, he was fast asleep, face mushed into Crowley’s own pillow. 

The fae stared, unsure of what to do. Should he leave him? Move him? Wake him? Go back to bed himself? Go somewhere else? This was nothing he had expected to come up against but Aziraphale was so cute! He wondered why the prince had so clearly overindulged, and decided in the morning he would inquire. For now, he transformed and slithered up to curl on the end of the bed. He wouldn’t sleep again, he would keep watch make sure Aziraphale didn’t choke in his drunken sleep.

The next morning, Aziraphale woke late and blinked around at the room, trying to figure out where on earth he was. This was certainly not his room. He rolled over to find himself facing a wall with no windows and after a moment of further, slow thought he realised. Mentally swearing and shrieking at himself, he threw himself from the bed, or tried to. The blankets tangled around him and would have sent him tumbling to the floor if it weren’t for Crowley, standing right there, grabbing his forearms and keeping him from slamming down facefirst. 

“Crowley!” he exclaimed, eyes wide. The fae didn’t look as though he’d been in the bed, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Umm...oh...oh dear.” His shoulders slumped, but Crowley just chuckled. 

“Not to worry, Aziraphale. You came wandering in in the middle of the night and weren’t interested in being led back to your own bed. I don’t actually need to sleep, so its not like letting you have mine was a particular problem.” He didn’t mention that this had only happened two hours before and Aziraphale was now both clearly perfectly rested, sober and headacheless. His fae heritage was clearly very strong. Crowley found himself wondering how human he even was; with a mother with a lot of fae heritage and a father who was apparently fully fae, it could be not very much at all. The physical features of the fae were the first thing to vanish in a human-fae interbreeding, after all. 

There were hurried footsteps in the hall, and Aziraphale’s maid appeared in the door of the room, eyes wide and face worried. “Az...Your highness. There you are.” Her shoulders slumped slightly in worry, even as she took in the scene, eyebrows ticking up as she looked at them. 

“Ahh, Marjory,” Aziraphale drew himself up. “I believe I shall have a bath, could you prepare some breakfast for us afterward?” the maid nodded, clearly biting back several comments due to Crowley’s presence, and turned to go. Her shoulders were shaking slightly as she walked along the corridor, and Crowley found himself grinning. 

Aziraphale mumbled his way through taking his leave and hurried from the room, and Crowley sank down on the edge of the bed. Should he tell Aziraphale what he knew or should he keep silent? It was a difficult choice, either way. He pondered the possible results of each, and after much deliberation he decided to keep it to himself. He snapped himself clean and freshly dressed, wishing that he too could indulge in a bath, and emerged to find a very palatable meal being laid out on a table that had been drawn into the middle of the sitting room. This was clearly not the normal arrangement, Crowley could remember where it had sat the night before, but this allowed for them to sit opposite each other, the food arrayed between. Crowley glanced around, looking for Lillith. She was back on her pedestal, curled up on her side with her wings tucked close. She was clearly recharging, and Crowley moved her to the windowsill to collect some sunlight. The magical companion was an oddity; not truly alive but at the same time quite a real person with a full personality. It reassured Crowley that Aziraphale’s father had left this. He must have had a good reason to leave; for all he would have known his child was safe that just wasn’t something the Fae did, leaving their children behind. Not while they were children, at any rate, unless they had to. 

Having set her where she could gather energy from the sun as well as from the small link to underhill in her base, he sat at the table to wait for Aziraphale. He was quite certain that no one else in the palace had a spread like this for breakfast; there was a whole loaf of steaming bread, a thick golden porridge, and he could smell frying bacon. Jam and butter were available in abundance, and Crowley smiled. So his angel wasn’t completely restricted in his diet then. Good. 

The sound of Aziraphale’s slippered feet reached him and he looked up to see him enter the room, his clearly freshly washed hair standing around his head in a fluffy cloud, creating the impression of a halo behind him. He beamed at Crowley and quickly moved to join him at the table, pouring tea for them both. “Oh, my dear, you didn't need to wait for me,” the prince scolded lightly, and Crowley shrugged. “Don’t mind waiting, really, angel. Prefer to eat together, really.” 

Aziraphale gave him a soft, pleased smile, and soon they were both tucking into the scrumptious spread. Crowley found himself captivated as he watched Aziraphale enjoy his meal. The blonde gave his food his full attention, savouring it, taking dainty bites and occasionally moaning around them at the combination of flavours. It was absolutely entrancing and Crowley found himself unable to look away. He revised his thought from the day before - he was definitely in trouble here. 

Finally breakfast was over and Aziraphale sat back, frowning in thought. “What shall we do today, my dear?” he inquired, suddenly not feeling like doing any of his ‘duties’ right now. He had nothing pressing, merely a few self-assigned tasks in the library. Everyone’s finances were up-to-date and the wages had all been distributed to the servants, which was the one thing he had to make absolutely sure happened every month. For all he hadn’t finished double checking Gabriel’s books, everything was under control there. 

“Hmmmmm,” Crowley frowned in thought, then an excellent one struck him. “Could you take me down into the city, do you think? I didn’t get to see much of it on my way through, I’d love to have you show me around.” The idea of walking beside Aziraphale, watching him experience the city even more than he could at night, was an intoxicating one. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide at the thought. Go down into the city in the middle of the day? Walk around in the streets where people could see him and know who he was? It sounded wonderful, but at the same time he wasn’t certain it was a good idea. What if he was recognised? What if someone gave him away and he couldn’t sneak out at night anymore? It was the only thing that gave his life any real meaning, escaping the palace for those few hours. If it was taken from him, he didn’t know what he would do. Then again, it wasn’t like his brother could STOP him from going; he was the only one who could escape any room in the palace, including the dungeons, such as they were. “Oh, yes, my dear. That sounds wonderful! I shall have to get Marjory to carry word to the captain of the guard, so he can organise a few to accompany us. I shall make a request for discrete company so that we can just enjoy ourselves.” He turned to find her already in the doorway and she nodded her comprehension of the order, turning to leave. Aziraphale turned back to Crowley with a beaming smile and leant towards him as they started to put together a plan for how they would spend their day.


	5. Blood and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip into the city, a literal trip, caring and fun and SOFT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the FABULOUS Nenchen for the wonderful banner she made me! It's so great, I love it. Now I have had this chapter written for over a week and tried to proof read it multiple times. It just hasn't worked out, so I've decided: if you see something, please say something? Just spelling and grammar-wise but yeah. I wanted you to have this before the New Year. Thanks to everyone who is reading, especially those leaving Kudos and reviews, they are treasured!

  


Aziraphale twisted his hands together nervously as he waited for Crowley to join him. He was so excited to be going into the city despite Gabriel’s disapproval when he had requested that his older brother organise some guards. However he had been happy to see that Aziraphale had at least been taking his ‘courting duties’ seriously and had consented to the excursion.

Now Aziraphale was waiting for Crowley to come down the stairs, the fae having wanted a moment to sort out...something...while Aziraphale wandered down to the front hall. The guards were waiting for them there, smiling broadly at Aziraphale’s clear excitement and impatience. They weren’t worried about taking Azirapahle into the city. As the youngest of the royal family, he was the least likely to be targeted anyway, but everyone who knew Aziraphale loved him. That had spread from the palace staff to their families and out into the city, until everyone understood that the youngest prince was the best of his family. 

Finally Aziraphale heard footsteps on the stairs and Crowley almost ran into view, his feet were flying so fast down the marble that Aziraphale was momentarily afraid he would lose his footing and fall flat on his face, or worse. He moved slightly, prepared to catch the Fae, and Crowley decided to make use of him, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder and swinging himself around the slightly shorter man before stumbling to a stop behind him. 

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. 

“Yes, yes, fine thank you, Angel,” Crowley replied, panting slightly. “May have had a...slight run in with your brother...Sandy-phone, was it?” 

Aziraphale barely managed to stifle a snort, but the guards were less circumspect, a quiet chorus of giggles underscoring Crowley’s broad grin. Aziraphale pulled a face at the fae, giving him a gentle shove on the shoulder as he moved to walk alongside him. 

They made their way down the winding road from the palace and into the city. The road was a series of switchbacks and Aziraphale was sure he would be glad of the conveyance that would bring them back up to the palace, a sort of moving platform powered by the river at the base of the hill, travelling on a continuous loop up and back down. You didn’t ride it down as the whole contraption flipped upside down for the return journey, but the walk down was not arduous, despite being long due to the multiple switchbacks. The road was, as far as Aziraphale could determine, imminently defensible. 

He pushed such thoughts from his mind and focused on thinking about what he wanted to do in the city. As though reading his mind, Crowley spoke. 

“Is there something in the City you would particularly want to do? Visit the Scriptorium, for example?” 

Aziraphale flinched and glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. Was he smirking? What did it mean? He couldn’t actually know anything, could he? No, no. He was just making a suggestion based on what he knew Aziraphale liked. The Scriptorium was a good choice and he couldn’t see a way out of agreeing when Crowley spoke again. 

“On the other hand, you spend so much of your time surrounded by books, which you clearly greatly enjoy but perhaps there are other things you might want to see in the city?” Crowley was smiling warmly at him, now, and Aziraphale felt as though his heart was battering itself on his ribs. He managed to smile back and murmur something non-committal. All of his thoughts and plans for how to spend this day had fled when he met Crowley’s eyes earlier, as though he couldn’t hold onto a single coherent thought with those pools of molten gold regarding him. 

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, trying to think. “Perhaps we could go to the marketplace? I’ve never actually seen it up close. Lunch at one of the taverns, do you think? And maybe we can visit the shop that made those delightful chocolates; I’d love to see how that’s done. Do you think we could fit in all of that?” 

Crowley grinned widely. “Oh, Angel, I’m sure we’ll manage all that and more,” he replied, eyes dancing. The sounds of surprise from the guards, this time not distracted by Crowley’s apparent prank on Sandalphon, at the pet name had Aziraphale ducking his head and blushing. 

“That sounds delightful, then,” he said simply as they rounded a corner and could once more see straight across the sea of houses that spread halfway down the steep hill, extending to its base. Aziraphale sighed. It was a highly defensible position and the moving platforms at least saved animals from having to tow heavy loads up and down. Still he felt that it was slightly ridiculous to have the entire city perched so high up. It was as though his ancestors had felt a need to emphasise that they were above everyone else. 

“See that roof, there?” Crowley pointed to a large red tiled roof, and Aziraphale nodded. “Now look straight down from it, see the blue roof, it’s just next to the green one?” Aziraphale squinted, those two roofs were much smaller but he could make them out. He nodded, and Crowley grinned. “That’s the confectioners. Doesn’t look like much from up here, I know, but you’ll see. It’s heavenly inside.” Aziraphale gave a little wiggle of excitement and Crowley smiled softly at him, enjoying the sight of his enjoyment. 

Soon enough they were down among the buildings of the city, walls stretching above their heads and blocking any hint of view, houses and shops crowded together to the point where only the different colours and building materials separated one roof from the next. 

Aziraphale stared around, wide eyed. Sure, he came into the city at night, but his brother had never allowed him down during the day. He only had a key to the Scriptorium because he had lifted it from the palace library and no one cared enough to notice. He had never seen the city this bustling and alive, with people in every direction going about their lives, all of the shops open with hawkers calling their wares. He loved it. 

Crowley watched the delight on Aziraphale’s face and felt his chest tighten. How could anyone stand to deny him anything when it made him so happy? He knew he was in trouble, now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t like he had any particular duties to perform, he’d only wanted to come and stir up some trouble in a kingdom which was notorious for the way they kept their populace ignorant. Who better to have as a partner in such trouble making than a prince who was already secretly flouting his family’s wishes? 

Aziraphale was enjoying the city, but he was also becoming uncomfortably aware that coming down here as a prince was very different from when he came down as a commoner. They had been noticed, the guards not being exactly inconspicuous. Everyone was stopping and bowing or curtseying to him, and staring after them as soon as they had moved forward. It was an uncomfortable situation and he wished he could stop them, but he also knew exactly what his brothers would do if he tried. Examples would be made, people sent to the stocks and whipped for showing a lack of respect, even when that was exactly what had been requested. 

Crowley saw Aziraphale’s increasing nervousness and cursed inwardly. This wasn’t what he’d wanted for them; he’d hoped for something like the first night, only walking side-by-side instead of him riding Aziraphale’s shoulders and not being recognised as more than an animal. Of course, in a land where the nobility held themselves so aloof from their populace, any move to be with them would be met with great interest. He reached out carefully and allowed the back of his hand to brush against Aziraphale’s in invitation, and Aziraphale immediately latched on, grabbing it and holding on tightly. 

It had apparently been a reflex action as a moment later he stiffened and glanced down at their joined hands then up at Crowley, who smiled encouragingly at him and gave a gentle squeeze that brought a soft smile to Aziraphale’s face. 

Feeling bolstered by Crowley’s support Aziraphale moved slightly closer to his side, enjoying the feeling of cool fingers cradling his own warmer ones. He raised his chin slightly and smiled warmly at the crowds, nodding in acknowledgement of people’s gestures of respect and generally trying his best to play the part they expected. 

The crowds parted to let them pass, and Aziraphale kept smiling and nodding to people. He was intensely uncomfortable but he focused on making the people happy and the feeling of Crowley’s hand in his. His eyes caught suddenly on a diminutive figure and he was so arrested by the sight that he didn’t see the uneven cobblestone before he was tripping on it. 

Crowley did his best to catch Aziraphale, but the blonde still hit the ground hard, gouging his free hand and knees on the paving stones, tearing his clothing and ripping open the skin underneath. Crowley swore softly, dropping down beside him and gently assisting him to sit. 

Aziraphale took a deep, shuddering breath as he looked down at the damage he’d done to his hand and knees. They throbbed painfully in time with his heartbeat, and blood was swiftly beading up and flowing down his legs. 

“We’re going to need to clean these before I can do anything about them,” Crowley said softly, glancing up and down the street. “Where...ah, just the place. C’mon, Angel, allez oop,” he carefully helped Aziraphale to his feet, lifting him under the arms and wrapping his good arm over his shoulder to take a goodly part of his weight. 

The crowd had tried to surge forward when Aziraphale fell, but the guards had closed ranks around the prince and the fae, keeping them back. 

“Where to, Sir?” the chief guardsman looked to Crowley, who pointed further down the street. 

“There’s a tavern just down the way here, we should be able to get him sitting down and clean these injuries,” he told them, and the group began to move. It took a little persuading to get the crowd to shift, but a hand on a sword hilt was enough to persuade them that they wanted to do so. Crowley glared at the people who felt they had a right to stand between his Angel and safety, but soon enough they were at the door of Madam Tracey’s establishment. 

“Ahh, sir, this isn’t exactly…” Crowley ignored the guard’s polite attempt to warn him that he was not about to enter a tavern and instead knocked loudly on the door, knowing that if no one else was awake the kitchen staff would be. The door swung open almost instantly and it was Madam Tracey herself on the other side. 

“Oh, oh my, do come in, my dears. Set him down on the bench over here by the fire,” Madam Tracey fluttered for a moment, then visibly pulled herself together, standing straighter, and with the voice of a drill sergeant began sending her maids for the things they would need. 

Soon a basin, the water aromatic with astringent herbs, was steaming on the table beside Crowley, several soft white linen napkins, freshly laundered and ironed, placed next to it. Crowley, with a glance of apology at Aziraphale that had the prince smiling into his eyes, cut through what remained of the leg of his pants, clearing the torn and filthy fabric away from the injuries, then began to gently dap at first one torn knee, then the other. He was assiduous in his efforts, gently hushing Aziraphale and murmuring softly to him as he worked. 

Once the blood was cleaned away Crowley looked up, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. The prince was pale, almost as white as his hair, and he was clinging to the mug Madam Tracey had given him with his good hand. He was watching Crowley and as soon as the Fae looked up he attempted to smile at him. 

“Trust me, Angel?” Crowley asked. There was no hesitation in Aziraphale’s answering nod and tremulous smile, and Crowley smiled softly up at him before dropping his gaze back to the torn skin. He leaned forward, breath whispering over the surface, then pressed the lightest of kisses to first one knee, then the other. As he knelt up, reaching for Aziraphale’s hand, the guards exclaimed with shock and alarm. The skin on Aziraphale’s knees was swiftly healing, the wounds closing until no trace of them remained. Crowley took the injured hand and cradled it in both of his own, then lifted a cloth and began to carefully ensure there was no dirt left in the wound. Without taking his eyes from Aziraphale’s once, he cleaned the wound then raised the hand to his face, breathing in the scent of Aziraphale’s skin, and pressed a third soft kiss to his skin. 

Aziraphale set aside the cup, now feeling much steadier as the pain was already almost completely gone, and cupped Crowley’s cheek with his now free hand. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the Fae’s, his gaze so full of emotions that Crowley wasn’t sure he could understand them all. 

“Thank you, dearest,” Aziraphale whispered softly, and Crowley found himself choking on his own spit. Aziraphale had called him ‘my dear’ plenty of times, with a certain tone of fondness to the appellation, but this was something else. He felt his pupils widening, his eyes blowing out more solidly snake like and he hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t notice. He needed to find the time to tell him the whole truth, but this was certainly not it. 

Crowley was about to fix Aziraphale’s clothing, but Madam Tracey caught his hand before he could. “You need to sit down beside the prince and drink this,” she ordered firmly. “You try anything more after what you just did and you’ll be passing out on us, I swear. No more sense than a…” her words faded off as she made her way out of the room, leaving Crowley holding a second mug which he now realised held wine with some sort of medicinal, or possibly magical, herbs in it. He took a sip and, finding the flavour to be not at all unpleasant, took a longer draft. He made an encouraging noise at Aziraphale, who sampled the drink himself, then drank deeply, the colour in his cheeks returning almost in time with his swallows. 

Madame Tracey soon returned with a pair of pants she declared she thought to be ‘just his Highness’s size,’ and ushered the now much recovered Aziraphale away to change. 

There was a sudden pounding on the door of the Flower House, and it was opened to find the local doctor, puffing as though he’d run several miles, standing on the doorstep. 

“I heard what happened. Where is the Prince?” he demanded, trying to push his way inside, only to be blocked by the guards. The doctor puffed up, looking offended but also concerned. 

“The prince has been cared for,” the head guard informed him, shifting aside enough to allow him to see without letting him in the room. Aziraphale came out from where he had been changing his trews and waved with his previously injured hand, relishing the lack of pain in the movement. The doctor frowned and craned his neck, trying to see properly. The guards, deciding he had seen quite enough, closed ranks on him again, blocking all view of the room.

Aziraphale crossed and sat down on the bench beside Crowley, who was busy admiring the way the slightly too small pants fitted him. 

Deciding they had as much privacy as they were likely to get in the city, Aziraphale slid closer to Crowley and tipped his head to lean it on the fae’s pointy shoulder. It was much more comfortable than he thought it really should be, his skin warming markedly everywhere he brushed against Crowley despite the other man’s cooler temperature. 

Crowley slowly, carefully, raised his arm and laid it over Aziraphale’s shoulder, mimicking his position of just a few nights ago, and Aziraphale sighed and snuggled closer. Crowley tightened his grip, wishing he could express everything he felt in that single action. Aziraphale went almost boneless at the added pressure and Crowley, feeling greatly daring, turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to the hair that had been tickling his cheek. It felt even softer under his lips, and he pressed a second, longer kiss to the crown of Aziraphale’s head before turning back and quickly finishing his drink. 

“You okay to continue on, Angel, or should we go back to the palace?” he asked gently, no hint in his tone of any preference on his part. 

“Oh, continue on, definitely,” Aziraphale replied, then remembered what had led to him falling in the first place. The little face in the crowd, staring at him in dumbstruck amazement. The little face that belonged to one of his small pupils, who had been shocked and amazed to slip through the crowd to see the fabled prince only to come face to face with plain old Mr Fell. The sudden terror at the possibility of small, wagging tongues struck him anew, and he struggled to breathe for a moment. 

“Angel? Aziraphale, are you alright?” Crowley twisted on the bench, concern clear in his voice and on his face. Aziraphale managed a nod, even as he gasped for breath and his body shook. 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, my dear,” he pulled on every scrap of practice he had at controlling himself so that Gabriel wouldn’t find fault and finally calmed his racing heart. Crowley looked at him closely, eyes narrowing in concern, but he finally nodded and stood, offering Aziraphale his hand once more. Aziraphale took it gratefully, although he honestly missed the weight of Crowley’s arm around his shoulders. 

Crowley stood as close to Aziraphale as he could without risking tripping his love himself, arms brushing against each other from shoulder down, fingers intertwined. With grateful thanks (and a discreet gift of money) to Madam Tracey they made their way back onto the street, Aziraphale waving his healed hand at the crowd who cheered. 

“I wish they’d all just go about their day and ignore us,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley almost silently. “I mean, I understand that hardly anyone from the royal family really comes down into the city except for state Occasions, and I’ve never been, but I feel bad disrupting them like this.” He kept silent the more selfish wish that he could just enjoy the day with his suitor. 

Crowley grimaced slightly, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s hard being watched all the time,” he agreed, thinking about how Aziraphale had spent his time the evening they had had together. He had just been another member of the populace then, not anyone special except to a few small children who stared at him with worship in their eyes. He could understand that someone who was used to being overlooked, or even looked down upon, in the Palace would find this level of public scrutiny uncomfortable. 

They finally reached the confectioners where two of the guardsmen insisted on entering first, much to Aziraphale’s chagrin. Several people who were obviously customers exited and the prince whined and buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder in embarrassment. 

“That was unnecessary,” he hissed at the chief guardsman, who declined to comment on the necessity, or lack thereof, of the action. Aziraphale allowed Crowley to draw him into the shop, blushing fiercely under the gaze of the proprietor, who appeared to be some very odd combination of amused and annoyed. 

“Your Highness,” he greeted Aziraphale politely, then glanced at Crowley. “And Mr. Crowley, did you enjoy those fondants as you hoped?” 

“Oh, they were just wonderful,” Aziraphale gushed, drawing the man’s attention back to him. “So much flavour! Truly delightful.” At this praise of his art, the man visibly softened, and he smiled fully at Aziraphale for the first time. 

“If your Highness enjoyed those, you should try some of our other treats as well,” he suggested, and began pulling out trays covered in tiny, intricate confections. Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide with surprise at the number and complexity of the options on offer, and he was clearly flustered when asked to choose. 

Crowley stepped forward, wrapping his arm back around Aziraphale’s shoulder and giving a little squeeze to help settle him. “How about you explain some of the different ones, we’ll try a few and then take another one of your excellent sampling selections?” he suggested, and Aziraphale gave a soft sigh of relief at the rescue. 

They had tried four different types of plain chocolate, and sampled a number of different fillings and odd creations called truffles - a soft, chocolatey centre rolled in grated chocolate - and a variety of the liquid centres Aziraphale had so enjoyed already. Finally, they left the shop, Aziraphale insisting on overpaying to compensate for the time the man had spent with him. 

“It’s really not necessary,” the craftsman tried to insist, but Aziraphale just pushed the gold coins across the counter firmly. 

“You have devoted more than an hour of your day to educating me,” he stated calmly. “I have at least some idea of the amount of work, and custom, you could have gotten in that time. I refuse to leave you worse off simply because I wished to visit your shop.” 

The man acquiesced, Crowley was fairly sure, simply because arguing with royalty was generally considered poor form. They left the shop, a cloth bag with an intricately carved box (that could, Aziraphale was delighted to learn, be sent for refills) dangling from Crowley’s free hand. He had insisted, as Aziraphale needed to be able to wave at the crowd. The unamused glare Aziraphale had given him at that comment sent the fae into peals of laughter, and Aziraphale had huffed but allowed him to take the package. 

It was still relatively early, as they had set off from the palace before most of its residents would have even been sitting down to breakfast, so they wandered into the market. Aziraphale stopped suddenly and turned to look at the guards. 

“This is not going to work,” he declared after a moment. “And no, you are not going to clear the marketplace so that I can walk through, that’s a terrible idea,” he added, seeing the set of the chief guardsman’s chin. “You may distribute yourselves around the edges of the marketplace. One of you may accompany us, if you truly must.” 

“Tomin,” the chief guardsman gestured one of the guards, a diminutive man, forward. He was quite overlookable, if it wasn’t for his uniform, and he took up a position slightly behind Aziraphale as the rest of the guards moved off. With a sigh of relief, and feeling more like himself than he had for most of the day, Aziraphale led Crowley among the stalls, admiring the goods on first one, then another. 

When he found a stall that clearly belonged to a master glass maker, Aziraphale was enchanted. The tiny glass sculptures, so perfect in miniature with vibrant colours, almost seemed alive. He picked up first one, then another, admiring the play of light, and then he saw it. A little black and red snake sculpture, just like his friend from the other night. It was curled around a branch with an apple depending from it, and he touched it reverently. 

Crowley had to swallow back a gasp at the sight. Who was responsible for this? Only another fae could have known the story of him stealing apples from Oberon’s garden to share with mortals! Surely the mortals themselves didn’t remember it? He tried to remain calm as Aziraphale asked questions about the making and colouration of glass, and received an invitation to the master craftsman’s own workshop to observe the process. 

Aziraphale was delighted with the idea of visiting the glass workshop, seeing how the beautiful things were made, but first he wanted to see the rest of the market. He found a stall with some old books and examined them carefully, finding several volumes he didn’t have in his own collection and that he couldn’t recall from the palace library. Since he had handled virtually every book in that library it was a good bet that there weren’t copies of these therein.

Crowley watched the way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as he looked over the books and felt himself grinning. He gestured to the stallholder and before Aziraphale could make an offer he had purchased the books for him.

“My gift to you, Angel. I couldn’t buy you any books when I didn’t know if you owned them or not, but I can buy you these now.”

If Crowley had thought Aziraphale lit up when examining the books he positively glowed now. Aziraphale beamed at the fae, taking his hand once more as Crowley allowed one of the guardsmen to approach and take both the package of books and the little glass sculpture. 

“Shall we get some lunch?” Crowley asked once they had completed the trip around the marketplace. Aziraphale nodded and Crowley glanced around, considering. He’s originally thought they might eat at Madam Tracey’s, but having already been there once today it didn’t seem like the best choice. He guided Aziraphale up the street, matching their footsteps to allow himself to remain as in contact as possible with the prince, revelling in each brush of shoulder to shoulder. Aziraphale leaned towards Crowley, only just stopping short of leaning his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

The commoners beamed as the small group made their way through the city, enjoying seeing the two and their growing relationship. The people clung to the belief that Fae blood in the royal and noble families was a good thing, allowing the ruling class to live longer and therefore see to the good of the kingdom with a longer view. They were very happy to see a fae potentially join the family, whatever the rest of that family might think. 

When Aziraphale saw where they were heading a pang of fear gripped him. That was Will’s Tavern, the Globe, where his friend put on his plays and plied his custom with beer and good food. He glanced around, trying to keep his movements from being too choppy, not wanting look as panicked as he felt. 

Crowley felt the change in Aziraphale as they approached the tavern and glanced down to see the fine lines around Aziraphale’s eyes and mouth turn down, eyes darting from side to side but continually returning to the door before him. It suddenly occurred to Crowley how fraught a trip into the city could be for someone who had been making them clandestinely for some time. 

“Problem, Angel?” Crowley asked softly, looking down at him. 

Aziraphale bit his lip, uncertain, eyes flicking from side to side. He wanted to trust Crowley, he really did, and after a moment he leaned his head closer and made his choice. “It’s possible someone in there will recognise me,” he murmured, softly enough that no one could hear him. “They might have the sense not to say anything, but it’s hard to know for sure.”

Crowley hummed softly in his throat, thinking. He’d unfortunately given the head guardsman, whose name he still hadn’t managed to procure and not for lack of trying, the name of the tavern they were heading to so he couldn’t bypass it and take them somewhere else. Glamourie was not his gift; there was a reason why he walked around with pointed ears and the eyes of a snake, after all. He couldn’t see any way around it, and the idea that Aziraphale’s secret may be about to be exposed horrified him. 

He released Aziraphale’s hand and brought his arm up around the prince’s shoulder’s once more, thinking, and Aziraphale tucked himself in as close as he could get, wrapping an arm around Crowley’s waist in return. Crowley, who had been trying to offer comfort while he thought, the door looming ever larger before them, found himself struggling to string two thoughts together with the warm arm around him. 

They were at the door and he had yet to have any flashes of brilliance, Tomin opening the door for them and standing aside, two of the guards entering in front of them as though someone might be waiting to jump out and attack them. They entered the fairly shadowy interior and Crowley felt a moment of relief. Then he saw the proprietor hurrying towards them, hands outstretched in welcome, and it felt as though he’d swallowed an egg only to discover it was, in fact, hard boiled. 

“Welcome, welcome, welcome. Your highness, your....faeness. Welcome to my humble establishment. Do please come, sit, I’ll have the kitchen make some of our finest dishes for you,” the man’s mouth was running a mile a minute, but his gaze hadn’t left Aziraphale’s face since he’d first laid eyes on him. Anyone else might take it as the kind of crazed worship people could have around royals, but Crowley knew recognition and shock when he saw them. Still, the man was keeping it together, ushering the two of them to what was clearly the best table in the house, gesturing for the guards to make themselves comfortable wherever they wanted around the room. 

Crowley found himself sitting beside Aziraphale once more as the clearly sharp-witted tavern keeper bustled away. His sharp ears (and Aziraphale’s, he was fairly sure, he held himself as though he was listening) caught the soft whispers next door of, ‘don’t be shocked, don’t let on you know him, just call him ‘Highness’ and serve his food. Got it?’ 

“Mr Fell’s a…” the slightly too loud, very surprised voice was cut off with the sound of a soft slap and Crowley winced. He didn’t like violence, he certainly didn’t like it when people dealt it out to those under their authority. A frown was blooming on Aziraphale’s face as well, and Crowley was fairly sure he knew the cause. When the girl who came out to the table to bring them a jug of the house cider had one cheek slightly pinker than the other, Crowley found himself scowling, and he wasn’t alone. 

Aziraphale smiled gently at the girl and slipped a coin across the table to her, his eyes soft with apology. He hadn’t wanted anyone hurt for the sake of his secret, of that Crowley was certain. 

“It’s nothing, Your Highness. Not compared to my last place,” the girl whispered so softly she was barely audible, even to Fae ears. Aziraphale nodded his understanding, his face softening slightly from its lines of anger, and forced himself to relax back into his chair. 

They were seated further apart than Crowley liked, but he soon found compensation for it, for when the meal arrived he could watch Aziraphale eat. He’d already enjoyed doing so at the confectioner’s, seeing his Angel’s eyes close in bliss as he sampled a treat he particularly liked, a soft sigh whispering out between slightly parted lips. Now he got to see his Angel eat an entire meal of foods he clearly enjoyed. Crowley, being a serpent, didn’t eat much, or often. He did nibble on a few parts of the meal, more to placate Aziraphale than anything else, but mostly he sat and watched the blonde savour his food fully. 

Will, the proprietor who didn’t guard his name as zealously as the chief guardsman, stood to one side throughout the meal, ensuring that they had everything they could possibly desire. When Aziraphale licked the last remnants of the berry pudding from his spoon and set it down with a sigh, the man stepped forward. 

“I do wish you could stay for the evening, Your Highness,” he said, eyes darting between them. “There is to be a performance of my latest play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It would be wonderful if you could join us for it.” 

Aziraphale sighed with longing even as he narrowed his eyes slightly in Will’s direction, clearly communicating something that the playwright understood. “Alas, we must away back up to the palace. I do not have leave to detain these good gentlemen for an entire day and night,” Aziraphale smiled around at the guards, who mostly chuckled in response. “Perhaps another time,” Aziraphale added, and Crowley managed not to snort at him. He was quite certain that Aziraphale would be sitting in the front row of this tavern tonight, and dearly hoped that he would be sitting there beside him. Of course, to manage that, Crowley would probably have to come clean himself. 

They went on from the tavern to the glass workshop of Master Glassmaker Dormand, who was more than happy to explain, and demonstrate, the mixing of the various ingredients to create the molten glass, then the handling of that glass to create the beautiful pieces he prided himself in. Crowely examined the man closely, frowning in confusion. As far as he could tell, there was not a hint of Fae blood in him. 

“So, my ‘prentice tells me you bought the snake,” Dormand said to Aziraphale as he twirled the gather of molten glass on the end of a pipe, using a variety of tools to shape it and mold it as he spoke. 

“Yes, it was a lovely piece, and it reminded of...of someone I met once,” Aziraphale kept his eyes fixed on the glass and tried to blame the heat rising in his cheeks on the open furnace in front of him. 

“Aye, it’s lovely alright,” Dormand nodded. 

“An interesting composition, too,” Crowley said idly, lightly dipping a finger into a colouring agent before Aziraphale tapped the back of Crowley’s hand, making him withdraw it. The prince then wrapped both of his own hands around it to keep the fae out of trouble. 

“Aye, well, it’s a good old tale, I always enjoyed it,” the heavy leather apron creaked as Dormand moved to another table and began rolling the red-hot glass over the surface of it, picking up pieces of colouring sand Crowley realised after a moment. It was sprinkled over the surface and now was spread in a random pattern all over the surface of the glass. 

“Tale?” Aziraphale asked, eyebrows rising in surprise. “I didn’t recognise the scene, what tale?” 

“Why, the tale of the Snake in the Fae King’s Garden, of course,” Dorman grinned. “Long, long ago, the fae used to take children. Not to be unkind to them, ye ken. But...the fae love children, is how the story goes, and they would take those as didn’t have good lives. Give them something better. Better from the fae perspective, anyway. The children were loved, right enough, and fed, but they were also kept. They couldn’t leave, and they lacked the knowledge they needed to do anything about it.” Crowley found he could hardly breathe as he listened to his own story being told, and rather eloquently, too. He’d never imagined that humans remembered it, after all. “There was one fae, a serpent, who felt differently from the rest. He felt as though the children they took should have all of the information, should be able to make their own choices in how and where they would live their lives. So he snuck into the Fae King’s Garden and stole the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. He gifted it to the children and they ate it, and gained the knowledge they needed to leave Underhill, if that was their wish. It was my great-great-grandfather’s wish, and he came back to the real world with the woman he loved. They settled and had a family, and they told the story to their children, until it got to me. Well, the story’s travelled a bit further than that, really, but there it is.” 

Crowley found a lump in his throat as he stared at the man before him, trying to remember the face of the determined young man and woman from so long ago. He wished he could tell him that he’d been persuaded by that boy to fetch the apple for them, that it hadn’t been all him but they’d fought for their own freedom. There was so much that he could have added to the story, but he didn’t dare. 

Aziraphale spent a little longer prising details of the story from the man, and Crowley could already see that he was going to be setting it down on paper as soon as he possibly could. His fingers were twitching with the desire to hold a pen. Finally, they left the workshop and Aziraphale glanced around, uncertain. 

“Is there anywhere else you think we should visit?” he asked Crowley curiously, and the Fae frowned in thought. There were plenty of shops and things he was sure Aziraphale would find fascinating but he could also see the fine lines of strain around his eyes, the way he watched the crowd that stared even as they went about their day, and he wanted to give him a break from that. 

“I think that’s probably enough for today, really, don’t you?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded with something like relief. They wandered back through the city to the nearest platform station and were soon gliding their way back up the mountain, seated on the surprisingly comfortable wooden benches that ran around the edge, leaving space for cargo in the centre. Aziraphale, who had never actually ridden on his ancestors’ contraption before, was delighted. He pointed out different things as they went in and out of view, eyes wide and smile broad. Crowley sat back on the bench and alternated between watching his Angel and looking at whatever the prince was pointing out next. 

They arrived back at the palace and disembarked the platform without incident, then watched as it inverted to travel back down the mountain. There were six of the platforms, arranged in such a way that every time the conveyance came to a stop there was one at each of the three stations (at the bottom, in the city and at the top of the mountain). Aziraphale sometimes wondered when convenience had won out over security for his ancestors. 

They carried Aziraphale’s purchases between them back into the castle, waving off offers of help from the servants. None of it was particularly large or heavy, and most of it was at least a bit delicate. They arrived back at Aziraphale’s rooms without incident and Aziraphale, after setting down his burdens, collapsed onto his couch with a sigh of relief. Crowley sat beside him and turned to face him, a teasing smile on his lips. 

“Well, how did you like your visit to the city?” he asked, and Aziraphale frowned in thought. 

“It was very interesting, but…” his voice trailed off and his eyes darted around the room suddenly, nervously, and Crowley felt his chest tighten. Was Aziraphale about to do what he thought? If he was, Crowley needed to come clean first. He couldn’t let Aziraphale tell him without first telling the prince! He couldn’t let it continue. 

At almost the exact same moment, Crowley and Aziraphale spoke. “I have to show you something.” Aziraphale blinked in surprise and stared at each Crowley, head cocked to one side, then bit his lip. 

“I really think I need to go first here, Crowley,” he said slowly. Before he could say anything further they heard footsteps approaching through the closed door. “Quick! Come with me!” Aziraphale jumped to his feet and bolted to the wall, but before he reached it the door swung open and left him standing across the room from Crowley, Gabriel staring between them with his eyes narrowed. 

“Aziraphale. You appear far healthier than the report I received from the city indicates you should be,” Gabriel glanced suspiciously around the room, eyes landing on the large potted plant, the little statue on the windowsill and Crowley, poised as though to stand and follow Aziraphale across the room. 

“Gabriel! Yes, yes, I’m quite alright, thank you,” Aziraphale replied with a smile. 

“And how is that possible, when I heard you left blood all over the street in the city without a thought of what might be done with it?” Gabriel demanded, face clouding over with fury.

“I...I...oh…” Aziraphale had drawn himself together for a moment when Gabriel started speaking, but once he heard his brother’s objection he seemed to shrink, ducking his head, his shoulders drawing in and down until he looked much smaller. Crowley wanted nothing more than he wanted to get between the two, to protect Aziraphale from what was being said, but he couldn’t afford to offend Gabriel, at least not yet. 

“Exactly. You didn’t THINK, did you?” Gabriel glared and Aziraphale stammered, unable to put a sentence together in the face of his brother’s wrath. Crowley felt a simmering rage growing within him to match Gabriel’s, so furious was he with the Prince Regent. How dare he talk to Aziraphale like that? The prince had been badly hurt, he should not have had to consider the disposal of his own blood. They had travelled with guards, after all, and one of them would have poured something on it to make it unusable by a magician. 

“You’re just lucky that one of the guards had the sense to take care of it,” Gabriel huffed before whirling and storming out of the room without another word. Aziraphale hung his head, his expression despairing, and Crowley couldn’t take it anymore. He was on his feet and across the room in an instant, gentle fingers under Aziraphale’s chin lifting his face. 

“Don’t listen to him,” he said firmly, leaning down slightly to press their foreheads together, holding Aziraphale’s gaze with his own and trying to force him to believe it. “You were hurt and in shock, it wasn’t your fault. We had the guards there to take care of things like that. You aren’t responsible for remembering that. I mean, I should have, but you were hurt. It’s utterly unreasonable for him to come in here and put all of that on you.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes, so close to Crowley’s own, had tears teetering on the brink of falling, and as Crowley watched first one, then the other, slipped from the corner of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Crowley released Aziraphale’s chin to wrap both arms around his shoulders in a comforting hug, shifting so his cheek rested on Aziraphale’s curls and Aziraphale was tucked firmly against his chest. 

Aziraphale uttered a soft, lost noise and cuddled against the fae, feeling more at home than he had in years. The tears, which he had thought he had under control, began to flow more freely and Crowley murmured comfortingly, maneuvering them back to the couch and sinking down, pulling Aziraphale with him and ending up with the blond in his lap, curled up against him. They sat like that for a long time, Crowley murmuring comforting things and Aziraphale clinging to him like a limpet. 

When Aziraphale finally relaxed and sat back, blinking swollen eyes but no longer crying, Crowley smiled down at him and leaned back into the couch. Aziraphale collapsed sideways off Crowley’s lap and curled into his side, Crowley’s arm around his shoulders. 

“You know that was complete bollocks, right?” Crowley eyed him closely. “One of the reasons you travel with guards is so that they take care of that sort of thing. I’d love to see Gabriel with his knee gashed open to the bone trying to be together enough to remember to contaminate the blood.” 

Aziraphale nodded and sniffled softly, then tilted his head to look up at Crowley. “What did you want to show me?” he asked, curious, and Crowley stiffened, eyes wide. He did need to tell Aziraphale the truth, but now that there was nothing pushing them towards it it was hard to admit to. 

“I do,” Crowley said slowly, nerving himself up to what was needed. He glanced around the room, suddenly feeling exposed, the back of his neck crawling as the hair stood up. “I want to, but...not here. I feel like we’re being watched.” Aziraphale glanced around, frowning, then stood. 

“I can...take you somewhere where no one can watch us,” he said quietly. 

“No, it’s okay, I’m just being paranoid, and I need to show you this before we go any further.” Crowley removed his arm from Aziraphale and pulled it to his side, his eyes boring into the prince’s. “Don’t freak out? And...I’m sorry.” Without waiting for Aziraphale to respond, Crowley transformed, shifting swiftly through the half-way point and shrinking down into his snake form.


End file.
